


Spopera

by imstressed



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, Star Wars Episode V: Empire Strikes Back, Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Comedy, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gen, Multi, My Favorite Murder, Original Character(s), Other, POV First Person, POV Original Character, Parody, Podcast, Science Fiction, Screenplay/Script Format, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-03-18 12:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13681575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imstressed/pseuds/imstressed
Summary: At some point in your life, you've probably heard the saying: Life is full of surprises. You could meet the love of your life tomorrow, but you could also wake up bald.Or a 2003 Volvo S60 could knock you in to the Star Wars universe.





	1. A New Ho

It’s said that all manner of catastrophes come in threes. And call me a pessimist if you must, but I am inclined to agree.

When I was six, my mother and I were home alone and the victims of a violent home invasion. I don’t remember much of the event, just waking up to the sounds of gunshots downstairs in our two-story suburban home. We had just been one in a string of serial home invasions in the area. My dad and brothers had been out at the time and I’m not entirely sure if it was ultimately for the best or not. One of them could have done something. Or not, y’know? Who knows.

Anyways, the robbers kill my mother. That was the gunshot that woke me up.

One.

When I was twelve, myself and two other girls from my junior high were kidnapped by this psycho math teacher at our school that turned out to be a convicted killer in twelve states. And when I mean psycho I mean straight up Looney-Toons. He keeps us for a week; only two of us made it out. It’s an unspoken rule in my house that we don’t talk about this.

That’s two.

Then when I was eighteen—oh, wait I just realized I never introduced myself.

 I’m Nancy Duke. Hi.

I don’t know why my parents named me Nancy as a child in the twenty-first century. Nancy is the name of a fifty-year-old woman who wears plastic sun visors and gets all her jewelry from farmers market kiosks. _Nancy_ wears spatula earrings and muumuus outside of vacationing in Kona, Hawaii.

I do not wear spatula earrings so I go by my middle name: Jade. Much cooler, right? I think so.

My dad’s name is Jim Duke, you probably know him as the Duke of Hazard. He was a pretty popular pro wrestler back in the day before he retired to join the marines. We have a few VHS tapes of his fights from back in the late 80’s and early 90’s and I must say, he was pretty cool. But, my dad’s all about ‘civic duty’ and when the Afghanistan war broke out, he enlisted.  He served for five years before retiring.

Now he’s a cop.

And yeah, he looks exactly like what you’re picturing in your head right now. He’s 6’2”, 200 pounds and a tank of a man with thick, beefy biceps, and buzzed orange hair with a light dusting of grey as he is now in his mid-fifties. He’s the kind of guy you call Sir, even if you don’t typically call anyone Sir.

My mom was Yellow Duke. She wasn’t born with the name Yellow, she was born Allison and then had her name legally changed to Yellow because it was her favorite color. All our bedrooms were yellow growing up, too. She was one of those neo-futuristic hippies and was a potter by profession.

 It must have been crazy to see them together back in the day. I don’t have too many memories of them together, but I remember thinking my mom looked like a proper princess. This may or may not have been influenced by the fact that _Shrek_ had recently come out and mom looked unmistakably like Princess Fiona pre-ogre, and dad was built like an ogre so in my child-mind it made sense.

Then you have my two older brothers. Theodore, long for Theo, is the eldest and is an assistant manager at a 24hour Fitness center. Second is Ben, short for Ben-hur, and he’s currently away at college studying to be seismologist. Then there’s me and my twin brother Nathaniel. Nathaniel Blue and Nancy Jade. Before you ask, yes. We do all have colors for middle names. You can thank my mother for that. Theodore Grey and Ben-hur Periwinkle (Ben usually just puts his middle name down as Peri when he can).

My dad’s a good person.

I just feel like I need to say that, I need you to understand that before I go on.

My whole family is very loving and supportive and we’re all very close. When mom died, dad took it really hard. It was clear he was hurting and he blamed himself for it. I mean, imagine spending your life serving and protecting and you can’t even protect your wife and child when the time comes. It would mess anyone up. Some days he wouldn’t leave his room and it would be Theo and Ben getting Nate and I ready for school. I remember Theo made really good peanut butter and banana sandwiches and would put a fruit roll-up _and_ gushers in our lunches even though we were only supposed to have one or the other.

Then, six months after mom’s death, dad was back to himself. He said that mom was dead, and we were alive so we better _live_. Dad then signed us up for counseling and life continued on. I did ballet and dad, Theo, Ben, and Nate went to all of my recitals. I was their little baby girl. Even Nate treated me like a baby, though he was only older than me by five minutes. I have very clear memories of dad, with his big square dad-hands fumbling around with the bobby-pins and hairspray, trying to make my wispy red baby hair resemble that of a ballerina bun.

Then I was kidnapped.

After that, dad became a little… paranoid. There was no more ballet for me and no more sports for my brothers; we were all thrown into my dad’s own personal boot camp where we learned mixed martial arts, sambo, krav maga as well as a plethora of other skills like how to pick a lock, how to get out of handcuffs, how to tell when someone is following you, and what to do when you’re stranded with no survival gear. Home was no longer a place of happy fun times, it was the barracks. If one of us was late coming home from school and sent no warning, we had to run five miles before we could eat dinner.

At least once a year, dad would tear-gas us and it was always random with no warning. It was a tactic they use in the actual marines to help you practice operating under stress but god, does tear-gas burn.

He basically turned us into a squad of mini-marines.

Well, that was a really long tangent but hopefully you know me a little better now.  So now, where was I? Oh yeah.

It was a Wednesday. On Wednesday’s Nathaniel drives me to group therapy at the Sundance Home. The Sundance Home is a safe space for kids who have experienced intense trauma at a young age and at eighteen I technically shouldn’t still be going but these days I go more to help out Diane, the head of the home, than to actually participate.

“Hey dad?” I bound down the stairs and into the breakfast area. Nathaniel is at the breakfast bar eating an omelet and playing some game on his phone, his trademark Duke bright red hair was long and floppy making him look like a ginger Shaggy from Scooby-Doo, complete with the baggy green shirt and sparse facial hair. My dad is at the stovetop scrambling some more eggs. He’s wearing a faded green shirt that says “Gils Gone Wild! Raw, real, uncut!” underneath a depiction of three fish lifting up their shirts—their fish titties censored out. Dad doesn’t fish, but he does like a good pun.

“JD, just in time. Get your eggs.” He says, setting down a steaming pile of scrambled eggs topped with two fat slices of tomato. I make a face when his back is turned. I don’t like eggs. They have a weird texture and make your farts smell really bad but I sit down and eat them anyways because _‘they are a good source of protein and energy, JD, stop complaining’_.

“Dad?” I try again, sitting in front of my eggs.

“Hm?”

“I was wondering if I could go with James to therapy today,” I bite my lip, hoping he won’t immediately shoot me down. James So is my boyfriend. I met him at group therapy and we’ve been together for nearly three years. He’s got curly blue hair and black eyes and his dad was the I-5 strangler. He used to use James as bait because hitchhiking women were more prone to trust a man with a kid in the backseat. Fourteen confirmed kills.

 You could say he’s kind of messed up, but hey, so am I.

Dad looks up, catching my eye and I know not to look away as I continue. “It’s Valentine’s Day.”

That’s right, it’s Wednesday. And Valentine’s day. And my geek-boyfriend wants to watch the original _Star Wars_ trilogy because I’ve never seen it.

Oi, I can hear you judging me through the screen.

I’ve been around the sci-fi block, just not extensively. I’ve always leaned more toward the historical fiction like _Outlander, Murder on the Orient Express_ or _Memoires of a Geisha_ and the occasional fantasy like _Harry Potter, Neverwhere_ or _His Dark Materials_. They feel more weighted in reality when compared to science fiction. I was bawling when Jamie and Claire are torn apart at the end of book two when they think they’ll never see each other again, and I think every child that read _The Amber Spyglass_ still feel what Lyra and Will felt in those last three chapters.

I’ve seen every episode of _Red Dwarf_ which doesn’t entirely help me, because even though it’s sci-fi, literally nobody else in the sci-fi community has heard of it. I’ve seen every episode of Matt Smith and David Tennant’s Doctor on _Doctor Who_ , and I’ve seen a handful of episode of the original Star Trek but I remember next to nothing about them. My knowledge of Star Wars only extends to what pop culture has deemed important enough for me to know: “help me obi-juan, you’re my only ho”, the truth universally acknowledged that Jar-Jar Binks is the most annoying character ever, and “Luke, I am your father”—“NOOOOOOOO!”

Or something along those lines.

Anyways, he’s been trying to get me to watch the movies for ages and since it’s Valentine’s Day and I’m a good girlfriend, I will do this.

“Nathaniel can still drop me off at his house,” I offer. Dad doesn’t like me traveling alone even with all my training and I try not to hold it against him.

“Alright,” dad allows and I grin, leaning over to kiss his clean-shaven cheek. He chuckles, patting my head.

“Thanks, dad,” I say. Underneath all those war scars and tattoos and solid muscle, he really is just a pile of puppies and kittens. A soft-hearted man at the end of the day.

I quickly shovel my eggs into my mouth. I want to leave as soon as possible.

“Nate, let’s go.” I order, whacking my twin upside the head. He grunts, eyes still glued to his phone. I rinse off my plate before dumping it in the dish washer and when he still hasn’t moved, I resort to chucking the dish rag at him. It lands with a _floof_ on top of his head. “Nathaniel Blue!”

“Yeah?” He finally looks up, unfocused, foggy green eyes, the color of sea glass, meeting mine. “What? Oh yeah, okay. Let’s go Jade.” We exit our house and head towards Nathan’s 2000 Toyota Camry parked on the street in front of our house.

“Do you wanna drive?” Nathanial asks. I laugh.

“Absolutely not.”

Now, if you’ve never driven through Seattle or any large urban city, then consider yourself lucky because it is the most anxiety inducing thing that a person is forced to do. The streets are too narrow with cars parked on each side. You can barely drive safely down any of the residential streets and god forbid another car is coming down the street from the opposite direction. The you have to do this awkward dance where the smaller car has to find somewhere they can pull over to let the other pass. One-way streets, the 3-6pm bus only lanes except on Sundays, the parking meters that won’t accept your card for some reason forcing you to go find free parking probably ten blocks away from your location.

Basically, driving in Seattle is hell on earth and probably the reason we have so many serial killers here.

James’s dad is currently serving ten life-sentences in jail and his mom is dead so he lives with his mother’s mom—his grandmother—who he calls Dame Judy which I’ve always found funny. Her name _is_ Judy, but she’s not a Dame—however, she does hold a striking resemblance to Judi Dench.

            When she answers the door I present her with a small box of chocolates.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Judy!” I sing and she claps her hands in excitement. I’m great with old people, it’s like my mundane superpower.

“Oh Jade! Good to see you, James is up in his room.” Judy says, her heavy Sicilian accent coating the words. She takes the box and ushers me inside but does not follow me once we reach the stairs. I think she’s a little scared of James because she never goes up to his room on the second floor. If she needs him for anything she’ll stand at the bottom of the landing and call for him.

I make my way up the polished oak stairs, passing family photos of James as a baby with his mom and dad. It’s weird to see Gerard So, famous I-5 strangler, looking normal next to a baby James, arm in arm with his wife, Marzia Piccini.

Marzia Piccini was a foreign exchange student studying nursing at the University of Washington Tacoma when she had met fellow med-student Gerard So. But details about her were sparse; nobody in the Piccini household was want to talk about her or her unfortunate suicide after the revelation of what her husband Gerard had been doing with their son on their long drives together. She had been beautiful though, tall and dark haired with full lips and an archipelago of moles on her face.

“Hey, baby,” I greet him, crawling onto his bed. James is sitting in his computer chair playing the Oregon Trail, and his desk is littered with empty Cheeto bags and ramen cups and I can tell he’s been playing for a while since he is often so meticulous about keeping his room clean. He grunts in response. “Happy Valentine’s Day. D’you wanna watch _Star Wars_?” This gets his attention. He looks up, his dark eyes meeting mine.

“Okay.” He flashes me a crooked smile. He doesn’t mention the fact that it’s Valentine’s Day.

Okay. If it’s just between you and me, James is a pretty shite boyfriend. He doesn’t hug me back, or kiss me back, or really reciprocate any form of physical affection—I’m actually okay with this because surprise physical affection that I don’t initiate usually sends me into a panic attack, or at least, it used to. I’ve gotten better.

Also, there was this one time we got into a fight and I went to the bathroom and when I came out he was holding a fishing knife—one of those serrated ones that end in a hook—and I think he was thinking about killing me with that knife. It wasn’t a big deal though, it was a small knife and I could mop the floor with him if it came down to a fight. Besides, we all have our different quirks. Like for instance, I like to eat my Flamin’ Hot Cheetos with chopstick, and will pretend to not speak English just to avoid interacting with strangers sometimes.

Okay maybe not the same. I’ll acknowledge that.

James moves to the bed once he’s put on _A New Hope_ and I curl up into his side. He doesn’t put his arm around me so I do it for him, placing his arm around my shoulders like so.

This is how we watch the first _Star Wars_ movie, or at least I try to watch the movie but it’s just so dated and the acting is so mediocre and someone really needs to get Leia some contour, her face looks so flat in half her scenes. I could also tell James was getting annoyed with me and all my questions, like: “Why was the first film episode four? What was George Lucas thinking?” “If the storytelling was chronological, then they wouldn’t need to do such a huge exposition dump at the beginning of the movie.” “You realize seventy percent of _A New Hope_ is exposition and thirty percent plot, right?” “Why is Luke so quick to get over the death of the only family members he’s ever know? Why does he not emote?”

These are valid questions, in my humble opinion.

            About half-way through I mute the movie and take my top off. Now nobody is paying attention to the movie and we pass the rest of our time ignoring _Star Wars_ until it’s time to go to therapy.

.

If you’ve never been to any form of group therapy, there is this weird air that always hangs around. Everyone knows why everyone is there, but it’s never directly addressed. Like it’s all our unspoken secret that we all politely pretend not to notice.

Or maybe this is just Sundance Home specific.

You don’t go to therapy here unless you’ve had something _reaaaaally_ effed happen to you. That’s also why the Sundance Home is an actual home. It’s a buttercream one story house complete with peaked roof, a living room, kitchen, two bathrooms and a backyard with a playset. It’s supposed to make kids feel more at ease than they would in a hospital or an office.

At the Sundance Home, they split up the kids from twelve and under to thirteen and up. The twelve and under kids don’t participate in the actual group therapy session unless they expressly ask to join. For the younger kids this is mostly a place where they can play and heal and the therapists can watch them.

At eighteen, I’m right on that cusp of being kicked out because I’m too old and forced to attend the group therapy at the psychiatric hospital but since I’ve been coming here since I was twelve, I guess Diane just doesn’t have the heart to kick me out. I think I’ll do it for her one of these days soon and announce that I’ll no longer be participating in the groups.

I plop myself down on the ground next a little girl that looks to be about five or so. She has scraggly blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail and she is sitting on the floor, hunched over a plastic Fisher Price telephone.

I’ve never seen her before, she must be new.

“Hey, I’m Jade,” I introduce myself to her, “what’s your name?” She looks up at me with big blue eyes. Ugh, I’m a sucker for blue eyes.

“My daddy shot himself in the head.” The little girl puts her finger to her temple and mimes blowing her brains out. “Like that,” she says.

“Is that your name?”

“No. I’m Lydia.”

“Nice to meet you Lydia, what are you playing? Can I play with you?” She nods.

“I’m playing 9-1-1.” She picks up the little plastic phone and pretends to dial the number 9-1-1. “Hello 9-1-1? My daddy shot himself in the head, please send help.” She then proceeded to hang up the phone and then pass the little Fishers Price telephone to me. I copied her, dialing 9-1-1 before lifting the phone to my ear.

“Hello, 9-1-1? I’m being held captive in a cabin in the words. Please come rescue me.” And then I hung up and passed the phone back to Ana. We go on like this for a while, taking turns calling 9-1-1 and it’s kinda cathartic, I can see why she plays this game. I kinda just want to stay there for the rest of the day and play 9-1-1 with Ana, but group is starting soon so I excuse myself.

Diane stands at the front of the room, welcoming people in and making sure to hug or shake the hand of everyone who walks in. Diane is a tall, wispy woman in her early forties with sandy blonde hair, a freckled face and smile lines around her mouth. She’s nice; her voice has a slight southern drawl because she’s originally from Kentucky before she moved up here to Seattle, Washington, the land of seasonal depression and black coffee.

“Good t’see ya, Jade,” Diane says kindly, opening in her arms and allowing me to choose whether I wanted to hug her or not.

“Hi Diane,” I greet her, pulling her in for a quick hug. She smells like tangerines and cardamom.  

“Did you experience anything new today?”

“Uh, James and I watched the first _Star Wars_ movie before coming here?” I offer.

“Oh? How did you like it?”

“Uh, yeah,” truth be told I hardly saw anything but I wasn’t about to dispel my sex life with James right here right now. “Mark Hamill was pretty cute it in, I guess.”

The goal behind the Sundance is to help youths come to terms with their trauma and find the strength to grow beyond it. Diane has a plethora of catchphrases that she likes to use in group, like: “You Are More Than the Things That Happen to You”, or “I Am Not Okay and That’s Okay, Because I Will Be”.

 The worst thing is when you let trauma define who you are entirely; I’ve seen some kids become consumed by it and it’s never pretty. That’s why they ask us questions like “what shows are you watching?” “What did you learn this week that you really found interesting?” Light questions that help us feel like normal people for a second before we go diving into the nitty-gritty.  Almost always someone ends up crying and I don’t know how Diane is able to do this for a living and not be an emotional wreck twenty-four seven.

By the time we get out, it’s completely dark out even though it’s only 5:30. But that’s the pacific northwest for you. It’s raining steadily and I’m suddenly regretting my choice in shoes: a pair of worn black ballet flats with a hole in the toe of the left shoe. But there I am, standing grumpily in the mid-February rain in my black flats with a hole, and oversized parka that sometimes made people mistake me for a homeless person.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from Nathaniel: _‘Leaving now.’_ Seriously? I stamped my foot, making a disgruntled noise in the back of my throat as my shoe squelched spongily on the pavement. Therapy has already been out for ten minutes and I shoot back what was probably the last text I’d ever send to my twin.

It’s funny how so many last times happen without our noticing. Like there was probably a last time that your parents picked you up but you don’t even remember it, do you? Or a last time you actually played a proper game of make-believe as a child. If I had known this would be the last text I’d ever send to my brother, I probably wouldn’t have sent the grumpy cat face. I probably would have sent a way funnier gif of like Oprah looking displeased or something instead. But hindsight, right?

I hear car tires squealing and I look up to see a 2003 Volvo S60 fishtailing, completely out of control down the slick pavement. I am rooted to the spot as I watch the car spin wildly.

There’s screeching, screaming, and really bright headlights. I feel as though I’ve just been body slammed by a—well, a car—and I am acutely aware of the fact that I am sailing through the air.

I can feel the rain on my face, it’s cold and gentle and there’s a light breeze.

And then I remember nothing at all.


	2. Error 404: Reality Not Found

At some point in your life, you have heard the saying: Life is full of surprises. You could meet the love of your life tomorrow, but you could also wake up bald.

Or in my case, a 2003 Volvo S60 could knock you into the Star Wars universe and you could be left severely worried for your mental state.

My first thought when I don't end up body slamming the grass or the pavement or a nearby tree and dying but instead land with a  _fwumpth_  on warm soft sand is  _'Oh my god, I got knocked out of reality!'_  which, as far as I can tell, was a pretty on-the-nose first analysis.

I don't know why, it just seemed like the idea that I got knocked out of this world, or into a hyper-realistic coma was a far more likely idea than that I was dead and this was heaven, or hell, for that matter. I actually haven't fully ruled out this being a coma, actually. It seems far more likely, and I've heard all kinds of weird stuff about people that fall into coma's and wake up being able to speak another language fluently—so, why couldn't my brain make up a very realistic Star Wars themed world? (For whatever reason, it's Star Wars themed and I blame James for this).

I lay there in the sand, trying to find it in me to move because even if I did travel to another world, or enter a coma, I could still feel the bone-shattering pain of being hit by a car. It's not as bad as it should be, though, if it was as bad as it should be, I would be dead.

As the pain subsides I finally manage to sit up and take a look around. It looks to be some kind of deserted junk yard judging by the state of the spaceship nearby and all the shrapnel surrounding me.

_Bzzz._

– What was that? I whip my head around to identify the noise and I spot my iPhone in its rose gold Caseology phone case a few feet away from me. It must have flown out of my hands when I got hit. On aching limbs, I scramble over to it and pick it up and—wow, not a scratch. I turn it over in my hands and the corners are a little banged up but they were like that before because of my butterfingers always dropping the delicate piece of technology down the stairs.

The screen isn't even scratch. Dang! When I get back I'm leaving Caseology a glowing review on Amazon.

I check the rest of the pockets on my parka to see if everything else I had on my made it through okay. In my inside pocket I am pleasantly surprised to find three blue Jolly Ranchers and proceed to pop one in my mouth. In my other pocket I find my trusty MAC lipstick in the color Ruby Woo.

Okay quick sidebar. If you've never seen  _Holes_  starring Shia LeBouff, first of all, I highly recommend it, and second of all, there is a woman in the film that goes around murdering all the guys who wronged her lover and with each one she leaves a kiss on their cheek.

Or at least, that's what I remember the plot to be. I'll be honest, I haven't seen the movie in a few years but I remember that part where she marked all her victims with a trademark kiss. It was so iconic I started wearing lipstick so that I could be more like her.

I quickly swipe the lipstick on before checking the rest of my pockets only to find no more bounty.

After my inspection, I quickly press the home button and my wallpaper becomes visible. It's a picture of me and James down at Santa Monica pier taken last summer with the Ferris wheel and rollercoaster visible in the background. James is wearing a black v-neck and black skinny jeans (the little emo nerd), his blue hair tousled and messy from the wind rolling off the ocean. He's wearing black aviator sunglasses and smiling wolfishly into the camera as he holds me on his back, a perfect red lipstick mark was visible from where I had kissed him on the cheek. My red hair is tied back into two French braids and I'm wearing mom jeans and a mustard colored tank-top. I've got my arms and legs wrapped around James and this big shit-eating grin on. I had made sure to get up extra early that day and do my makeup because I knew we'd end up taking pictures and I didn't want to end up looking like a drowned rat and it had worked. I look like I'm so happy that I'm practically glowing, that was just the bronzer and highlighter, though.

The clock read 5:40pm with the date stamped below saying it was February 14, 2018. Up in the corner it said NO SIGNAL, not surprising. Battery at 58% and one new text message from an Unknown Number. Where there would usually be like—a normal number, there was instead a string of digits in a language I had never seen before. Blocky and squiggly like some weird made-up alien language that you see on  _Doctor Who_  or something. I unlocked my phone and opened up the new text message, hoping that I wasn't about to accidentally download a virus onto my phone.

It read: "Find Han Solo at the bazaar and make him hire you," and what looked like a link to Maps with coordinates.

 _What the hell?_  I tapped on the link and my Maps opened up showing a red pin that must be where I am supposed to go, not too far away from the little blue dot that was supposed to represent me. The actual map though is all kinds of wack, and where it would usually so an aerial or traffic view of the terrain around you, right now it was just showing a blocky green grid like something out of the 80's.

I type back: "Who is this? What's going on? Where am I? Is this some sort of new VR thing? Am I dead? How did I get here? Hello?"

No response.

I should have expected as much, why should it be that easy? Frowning, I look around the junk yard as if a plan- or better yet, a coherent explanation- would just pop up from behind one of the hunks of metal. No such thing happened, which was also not in the least surprising.

Now what?

With great effort, I pushed myself off of the ground and started following the little blue path Maps had drawn for me, my feet squelching in my wet shoes.

-Why not? It's not like I had a better plan.

The little open-air market area was teeming with all sorts of life and it was then that I began to wonder if maybe it really was all real, because there's no way my imagination could be this creative. There were blue aliens and green aliens with bug heads, tentacle covered things and bright orange giants with horns. To my left was a gaggle of aliens that looked like E.T., and beyond them a booth of creepy looking slender-man aliens with glowing red eyes and soft, hissing voices.

So, now to find Han Solo.

Where to start? If I'm following dream-logic and this is a coma, then the first place I look should be where he is.

I begin walking in a random direction. This whole ordeal made about as much sense as a real unicorn showing up in your backyard and telling you the exact time and date of when you would die and then farting out four years of college tuition. So, to my most likely concussed brain the idea of just ambling around with the hopes of running into Han Solo seemed like a perfectly reasonable plan.

I turn to the nearest alien, some Bigfoot type looking creature, and tap him on his arm since his shoulder was too high up for me to reach. "Excuse me sir," I begin "I'm looking for a Han Solo. Do you know anyone by that name?" Bigfoot turns to me and roars. "Uh-huh, so was that a yes or a no?" He roared again and then turned and started to walk off, parting the crowd with ease. I hesitate, unsure if I should follow or not before sprinting off to catch up with Bigfoot. When he turns down an alley I pause again before following.

There's a man leaning against a stack of crates, he has tousled brown hair and is wearing a black vest that's giving me rebel space-cowboy vibes. When he spots us he jumps to his feet, pointing what looks like a pistol in my face. I raise my eyebrows, throwing up my hands in.

Now, of course I know what Han Solo looks like. I know what Harrison Ford, Mark Hamill, and Carrie Fisher all looked like in the trilogy thanks to seeing their faces on merchandise and internet memes all my life. But the man standing in front of me wasn't Harrison Ford dressed as Han Solo, it  _was_  Han Solo. As if someone had found a Harrison Ford doubleganger; very similar—almost identical, but  _distinctly_  different. Like Harrison Ford's Han Solo had been inspired by the man in front of me.

This Han Solo looked gritty. His tanned skin was sweaty and covered in a thin layer of grime and mottled with scars. He had dark eyes, strong nose and a sharp jaw covered in a few days worth of stubble. He didn't look ruggedly handsome the way Han Solo in the movies had been portrayed to be, he was just  _rugged_. There was a glint in his narrow eyes that said that he got what he wanted—one way or another.

"Chewie, what's the meaning of this?" Space-cowboy asks, looking between me and Bigfoot. Bigfoot roars in response. "I don't care  _how_  nicely she asked, we are kind of in the  _middle_  of something right now, aren't we?" Bigfoot roared again and then Space-cowboy turned to me. "Why are you looking for Han Solo? Who sent you?"

"I don't know who sent me," I said truthfully, "but I'm to be Han Solo's—" crap didn't think this far, um, ummm…"—bodyguard." He sent me a disbelieving look, his eyes raking me up and down, taking in my giant raggedy parka, to my black leggings and rain-soaked flats.

"Yeah right," he scoffed, "no offense, but I don't have time to deal with delusional little girls right now." Whirling around, he resumes scanning the street before quickly exiting the alley. Bigfoot and I follow.

"So you  _are_  Han Solo," I confirm. Han Solo swore under his breath, glaring at me from over his shoulder. He weaves expertly between different groups of aliens, taking long, purposeful strides that force me to break into a jog to keep up.

"Yeah, I'm Han Solo. Nice to meet you. Now scram before I call your parents, you got that kid?" I nod and then stop. Unzipping my parka, I turn to Bigfoot.

"Would you mind holding this for me for just a second?" Bigfoot roars politely and takes it. I stretch, warming up muscles while Han Solo is frozen, watching me with a mixture of confusion and apprehension.

"Test me." I say. Han blanches.

"Excuse me?" He demands, "this isn't some little game,  _girlie_. I'm not here to test you, you got that? I've got bigger fish to fry—like the flippin'  _bounty hunter_  tailing me right now!"

"Okay," I say easily, cracking my knuckles. "I'll take him out for you, how about that? That can be my test." At this, Han throws his head back and laughs.

"You!?" He points and laughs, shaking his head as he wraps and arm around my shoulders. I bite my lip, trying not to let my growing aggravation show. "You see that guy in the green armor?" He yanks me behind a stand, pointing to a figure dressed in battered green armor with what looks like a rifle mixed with a rocket launcher strapped to their back. "That's Boba Fett, the most infamous bounty hunter in the galaxy. You wouldn't last three seconds." Han sneers, "but if you really want to take a crack at him, be my guest. Just don't come crying to me when he cuts off your arms and sells you to Jabba the Hutt as a slave." My mouth quirks to the side but I don't say anything. "Let's go, Chewie—wait hey! Hey, kid! Hey-! Aw man."

The street is crowded and I am able to walk right up to Boba Fett who is leaning against one of the stands, scanning the crowd through a tinted helmet and so therefore doesn't notice me until I've already kneed him in the groin.

A quick note: When it comes to close quarters combat, the number one mistake most people make is going for the full extension. It takes more time and is ultimately less effective. It's better attack with knees and elbows. The most vulnerable to hit are nose, throat, groin, shin and then the back of the knee. Ribs are good too, but the torso will most likely be well protected if you're fighting someone with armor whereas the throat, and joints will be easy targets.

The moments I kick him, Boba Fett draws his pistol and I hear gasps and screams from the surrounding attendees of the market who have just suddenly found themselves in the midst of a brawl. He fires and a red laser comes shooting out which I have to duck to the side to avoid. I reach for the gun, grabbing his hand and yanking him forward as I drive my elbow into his throat. Boba Fett makes a coughing, choking noise and stumbles back. He drops his pistol and reaching for his rifle. I jump at him, wrapping my legs around his middle I send us both tumbling to the dusty ground, the rifle skittering across the ground.

I lunge for the rifle, throwing myself across the market floor and scramble back up once my fingers wrap around the barrel. I whirl around, pointing it at Boba Fett with the space-pistol from his spot on the ground. We're frozen in a stand-off, him with the pistol and me with this intense looking rocket launching rifle.

It's obvious whose weapon will do more damage.

"Lower your weapon," I say, trying to impersonate the quality my dad's voice would take on when he was in Policeman Mode. Slowly, Boba Fett lowered his pistol and places it on the ground by his feet. "Now kick it over to me." He did. Without taking my eyes off him, I felt for the gun with my foot and then quickly picked it up and shove it into my hoodie pouch.

"Scram," I order, "and tell whoever sent you to leave Han Solo alone or they'll have me to answer to." Boba Fett stands up and I tense. Pressing a button on his arm, he activates—oh my god he has a jetpack? That's so cool!

He flies off. A cloud of sand follows him making me cough and my eyes water.

That was the galaxy's most feared bounty hunter? That fight didn't even last three minutes.

As soon as the action ends, everyone immediately resumes what they had been previously doing. I walk back over to Han and drop the weapons at his feet, looking at him expectantly.

"So did I pass?" Han's mouth is wide open, looking flabbergasted. He looks to me, and then to where Boba Fett disappeared. Then to me again.

"Wha—how did you—you just—oh my god…" He looks a little pale and I'm not sure why. It wasn't a particularly big deal, was it? Han's wide, brown eyes find mine. "Who are you? Where did you come from?"

"I'm Jade? I'm not from around here, to put it lightly—was that really the galaxy's most infamous bounty hunter?" He nods. I quirk my mouth to the side. "Well, he wasn't a very impressive fighter." Han fixes me with a funny look and then laughs again.

"Kid, you're something else, I'll tell ya," and he slings an arm around my shoulders, "you're absolutely crazy, but I like you. Consider yourself hired." He shakes his head, chuckling to himself as if he couldn't believe the preposterous situation he's suddenly found himself in.

I force a smile and follow Han.

"Aren't you hot in that?" Underneath my parka, I'm wearing a grey sweatshirt and I suddenly realize how out of place I must look in this desert climate area.

"I honestly hadn't noticed." Han sent me a look that clearly said that I was a freak and he was worried. He places his hands on his hips as if he's thinking something over before finally nodding.

"I'll tell you what, let me buy you some clothes—as a sign of thanks. You took care of Boba Fett for me and I'm indebted to you and Han Solo always pays off his debts." Something about that statement makes me think it's not very accurate but I allow him to buy me a change of clothes seeing as all I have right now are the clothes on my back.

The clothes Han gets me are practical, if a little skimpy. From one of the stands, he got me a pair of green cargo pants and brown boots. The pants were made of a material I couldn't identify but it was light and sturdy, a breathable material that would keep me cool in hot climates, dry in wet, and warm in the cold. It felt like good all-weather, Washington clothing. The boots were second-hand and a little battered, but comfortable, like well-worn leather. Lastly, he got me a tight black top and a gun holster. The shirt was of a similar material to the pants, sleek and water-proof, snug and stretchy. It reminded me a lot of Underarmor, actually, taking me back to when Dad took us all to the Army Surplus Store to get our backpacking gear for our upcoming family trip where we were going to hike the Pacific Crest Trail. However, the shirt is just a little too short and rides up to expose my bellybutton.

"It's a shirt for little boys, but it's the only thing they had," Han says by way of explanation and shrugs one shoulder.

I strapped the holster around my hips, and I know that it wasn't intentional but Han had just dressed me like Kim Possible.

"Here, take the blaster." Han tosses me Boba Fett's space-pistol.

I don't really like the idea of being armed but I holster it anyways. I can feel it hanging oviously on my thigh, a cold and deadly weight. (That's going to take some getting used to...). He's eyeing his handy-work appreciatively and I give him a twirl as he nods approvingly. "Much better."

I couldn't help myself. "So, what's the sitch?"

"The sitch?" Han makes a face that clearly says,  _'kids these days and their lingo,'_  "I've got a business venture on Kafrene, you ever been?"

"I've never been anywhere," I say truthfully.

"I don't know what you mean by that but I'm going to leave it for now. C'mon." He gestures for me to follow out of the little make-shift dressing room inside one of the clothing stands and I do. In the streets my eyes pick up all kinds of accents I've never heard before, the scent of unearthly spices fill the air. Adjacent to us sits a woman selling street food that looks like octopus tentacles on a stick, except they're bright purple and giving off a fruity scent. Bigfoot is standing outside waiting for us, still politely holding my parka.

"Thanks," I say as I take it from him and wrap my old clothes inside the large jacket, tying the sleeves around it to keep everything in place before tucking the wad underneath my arm.

"My ships this way," Han jerks his head in the direction of a giant, domed, grey building and we take off.

"Now don't go judging it based on the way she looks just yet," Han warns as we approach, "my girl can hold her own in a dogfight and Chewie and I have made plenty of modifications to her over the years."

The Millennium Falcon is far bigger than I expected. It's about the size of my two-story suburban house back home, including our modest North Seattle-sized back yard and drive way. The ship was probably once shiny and white, but its greyed with use. The thing sits dusty and battered, covered in nicks and scratches and scorch marks. The air in the bay smells like gasoline and burnt rubber, oil, and space dust.

I am stopped in my tracks, awed.

The ramp to the Millennium Falcon lowers with an audible groan and I feel a small thrill of excitement zip through me. I can't keep the grin that is pulling at the corners of my lips as I approach, my boots hitting the paved ground with anticipation and trepidation in each step. Han catches my excitement and smiles back at me as I near.

"Here, now that I'm no longer in a hurry thanks to my  _body guard_ ," he chuckles to himself again at this, "let me give you an official tour." He guides me inside, sweeping his arms out in a grand gesture to the dingy grey metal walls and grated flooring before leading me into a faded white paneled hall. "Here we have the boarding ramp, just inside are my smuggling compartments—you're gonna get real familiar with those. Through that corridor is the cockpit." Han explained, taking off down the hall in the other direction. He waved his hand at a large domed door with the words ENGINEERING BAY printed in large black letters on it. "In here is the Engineering Bay—you've got your freight elevator, escape pods, hyperdrive, and sublight engines. Up ahead is the Crew Quarters—where you'll be sleeping, you can take the third bunk, and refresher." The Crew Quarters were cramped and basic, holding three sets of bunk beds with two that already seem to be in use. There's a sexy picture of an alien woman in a bikini tacked above one bed, and a calendar tacked next to the door, but besides that the walls are bare. The floor, however, is strewn with dirty clothes and a few engineering bits and bobs. The third bunk is piled high with junk and Han scratches the back of his neck, "yeah, you're gonna have to move some stuff first. Chewie and I have just been using it as extra storage for a while now."

"Beggars can't be choosers," I say compliantly, setting everything thing I own— my ball of clothes—on the bed before we continue on.

"Yeah," he says, clearing his throat. "Anyways, here we have the main hold," we enter a room that looks like a sitting room. It has a futuristic white, crescent shaped couch taking up one corner with a round table in front. In one corner it looks like there is a chess table set up and in the other it looks like there's a work bench but for the most part the room is left clear and spacious. Han spreads his arms out wide again and says, "welcome to your new home!"

The words hit me funny, like an invisible hand has just yanked at my guts and I force a smile. Bigfoot appears in the doorways, roaring.

"Right, formal introductions are in order," Han says, clapping his hands together. "I'm Han Solo, you already know, this here is my partner and Co-pilot, Chewbacca—but please just call him Chewie, it's the only thing I ever call him." Chewie roars in acknowledgement, offering me a paw which I take graciously.

"I'm Nancy Duke, but please never call me Nancy. Most just call me Jade." Han nods, appraising me again with his head cocked to the side and an easy grin.

"JD?" He tries. Only my dad calls my JD.

"I'll answer to that too," I finally say, giving a curt nod.

"Well, JD, you go ahead and make yourself at home. Chewie and I will take off and set a course for Kafrene." I nod, eager for a chance to sit down and collect my thoughts and we quickly disperse. I make my way back through the metallic corridor to the door marked CREW QUARTERS and enter. Now that I have time to rest, I can feel the cold, spindly fingers of anxiety creeping their way up my chest, slowly constricting my heart and needling their way into my lungs.

Am I dead? Is this real? What's happened to my family? Dad? Nathan? James? Is everyone alright? How will I get home? Will I  _ever_  get home?

My hands are shaking and I quickly set about clearing off my bed. I pull my sweatshirt out of my bundle of clothes and press my face into it. It smells like citronella candles and polished hardwood floors and Irish Spring deodorant. It smells like home. And in this dark little corner of my bed in the Crew Quarters, I cry myself to sleep.

James and I are sitting enjoying each other's company in the Mos Eisley cantina from the opening of the first Star Wars movie. We're making dinner plans; I want sushi but he says Tatooine is a terrible place to get sushi because it’s a desert planet- he wants to get Korean BBQ. We're so absorbed in our little conversation, we hardly notice when Boba Fett shows up. He has his blaster pointed at us and before I can even react he's pulled the trigger and I watch in slow motion as a red laser beam hits James square in the chest. My whole body goes cold as James slumps over, dead.

There is blood pooling everywhere- so much blood. Hot, sticky, oozing, black-red blood. It dribbles down the table from the gash in her neck, mingling with her wispy blonde hair. Someone is screaming, I can hear it ringing in my ears as I look over Amanda’s body. So much blood. So much. It covers the walls and arcs across the ceiling and the little room smells overwhelmingly like pennies.

Fear constricts my heart and I'm only acutely aware of my own screaming, Hanna and I cling to each other, clutching at our own stab wounds. I look back over to Boba Fett whose taken off his helmet, revealing the gentle, elderly face of my seventh-grade geometry teacher Mr. Fisher.

"Nancy? What are you doing here?" His sounds surprised but keeps his voice gentle, as if trying not to frighten off a wild cat.

I am shaken awake, my eyes snapping open to see Han leaning over me with wide eyes.

"You were screaming bloody murder in your sleep!" He exclaims, "I thought I was going to come in here and find someone trying to murder you!" I blink back tears as I sit up. I think I've gone and peed myself just a little bit.

"Sorry," I sit up on shaking limbs, slowly pulling myself together but I can still see Amanda slumped over dead and Mr. Fisher dressed as Boba Fett. I wrap my arms around myself and I wonder if Han is going to try to comfort me or question me.

Han straightens up, pursing his lips as he eyes me. I don't meet his gaze and keep my eyes fixed on my boots.

"We'll be reaching Kafrene in about twenty," Han finally says after a while, "go get yourself ready and then meet me in the cockpit." I nod. I don't look up until he's left.

I clean myself up to the best of my abilities, using my sweatshirt to wipe the sweat from my face. I rake my fingers through my hair in a shoddy attempt to comb it before splitting it into two French braids.

I enter the cockpit and stop short, awed once again by the magnificence before me. Outside the glass shields, there is an array of colors, pale greens and reds and purples and blues all bleeding together and interspersed with bright streaks of light.

"Wow…" I breath, unable to tear my eyes away from the galaxy flying by at an unimaginable speed.

"Pretty impressive, right?" Han boasts, reclining in the captain's chair.

"Pretty impressive," I echo, a little smile pulling at my lips as the nightmare from earlier is quickly forgotten by the impressive depiction of  _space_  outside.

The  _Millennium Falcon_  is spit out inside a giant asteroid field. Before us, I can see two giant asteroids floating closely together, and I sit down in one of the open chairs as the two asteroids slowly rotate to reveal a city woven between the two giant space rocks. I could see tall spires jutting out of the city as it slowly floated through space. It reminded me of the sinews between joints in the human body, weaving together in an intricate pattern as ships of varying sizes fly in and out of the city.

"Well JD, allow me to welcome you to the Ring of Kafrene."

The  _Falcon_  is soon enveloped by the city and the stars and space dust outside the windows were replaced by bright neon lights and tall buildings littered with graffiti. I can see aliens hanging their clothes up to dry on clothing lines strung between the narrow buildings and the warm yellow lights of high rise apartment buildings. We land in the eastern city port, and I silently tag behind Han and Chewie as we enter the labyrinth that is Kafrene, more than a little overwhelmed by my new surroundings.

The unfiltered city air was thick with smog and the streets were lined with lamps and space heaters to lights the city goers' way and keep them warm as there was no sun nearby. Once we leave the warm safety of the  _Falcon_ , I wrap my arms around my exposed midriff as the permanent chill of the city attacks my exposed skin. There was no way to tell what time of day it was in Kafrene and the streets were packed with aliens and hover cars and street vendors. If you had told me that this place was on Earth, I might have mistaken in for Chinatown in New York City with its multitude of neon lights and signs written in languages I couldn't read.

"Stick close," Han ordered while placing a hand on my shoulder. I instinctively shake his hand off but don't move too far away as we progress into downtown. "This is the rendezvous point for the deal I'm in the middle of. As for right now, all we have to do is hang tight. You hungry?" I honestly hadn't noticed, but at Han's words I became painfully aware of how empty my stomach was and I think back to my last meal of scrambled eggs back home on Earth and who knows how long ago that was.

We find a cheap restaurant and quickly sit down. The small dining area is packed and we barely manage to snag a table, using Chewie to intimidate some teenage looking aliens into scramming so we could grab a cramped window table. The walls are a faded yellow and decorated with what I think is supposed to be artwork but it looks more like some four-year-old's rendition of a Jackson Polloc painting. The waiters are all running around yelling orders to each other, carrying themselves swiftly across the floor on their many tentacles.

"Welcome to Happy Yohgi, can I get you started on anything?" Our waiter was a blue tentacled creature that looked like the cross between the evil green aliens from The Simpsons and a Rastafarian with the tentacles on their head tied back in a low pony tail and one large yellow eye. Three menus are slapped down on the table before us and as I look at the menu I feel a jolt. It was covered in illegible blocky writing with squiggles and squares and little loops that I couldn't make heads or tails of.

"Three waters for now," Han says, and our waiter quickly disappears again into the crowded restaurant. I'm vaugly aware of Han watching me but I can't look away from the alien writing. "What—can't read Basic?"

"Guess not," I mumble. I don't know what to make of it— I can't read. Han narrows his eyes at me and I finally look up to meet his gaze. Han rests his elbows on the table and steeples his fingers, fixing me with an analytical gaze that I don't shy away from.

"Tell me about yourself." He says, but it sounds more that an order than a prompt for light conversation that is usually used to make newly acquainted strangers a little more familiar with each other.

I take a moment to answer. How much do I tell him? Do I tell him the truth? Is there even any point in lying? What's the worst that could happen, he thinks I'm crazy or lying? I purse my lips and cast my eyes around the busy restaurant. Nobody will pay attention to a quiet conversation in the corner, I doubt the table next to us would even be able to hear us talking even if we were to shout at the top of our lungs. I fix my gaze back on Han, a new _'to hell with it'_ resolve settling in my chest.

"What do you want to know?"

"Well, let's start out simple," Han begins, "where do you come from?"

"I'm from Seattle, Washington, the United States, North America, Earth, the Solar System, Milky Way Galaxy." Han's brow furrows in confusion as he leans back, letting out a low whistle.

"The Milky Way Galaxy, eh?" I can see him trying to process this information as he chews on his lower lip. "You mean to tell me you're from outside Tingel?"

"Is that the name of this galaxy?" Han barks out a laugh and nods.

"Yeah," he chuckles at the absurdity, "yeah, you're in Tingel Galaxy, surrounded by Tingel Arm and the dwarf galaxy Rishi Maze. The Milky Way, huh?" He says, muttering the last part more to himself. I nod.

"Milky Way is next door to the Andromeda Galaxy and one other but I can't remember the name right now—starts with an E." I can't help but be baffled by how well he's taking all of this and I'm somewhat soothed by his ability to take it all in strides.

"So how did you get here? I myself have never traveled outside Tingel, travel outside the galaxy is explorative still." I shrug.

"I honestly don't know," I scoot in, hoping that he won't freak out by what I'm about to say. "The last thing I remember is being on my home planet, Earth, and then waking up in some junkyard type place back on that last planet—uh, where did we just come from?"

"Jakku," Han supplies, I can practically see the gears turning in his brain as he processes what I'm saying. "Sounds like you woke up in the Graveyard, it's a place where lots of crashed ships rest from the Clone War days."

"Your waters," Han and I quickly pull away as our waiter sets three cups of glowing blue liquid down on our table. "Do you all know what you're getting yet?"

"Yeah I'll get a Nerfberger with the protato wedges." Chewie roars and the waiter jots both of their orders down before turning to me.

"And for you?"

"Uh…" I don't know how to say that I couldn't read the menu so I just stare at the waiter with my mouth hanging open like an idiot for a while. "I don't know—what would you recommend?" The waiter blinks.

"You like sweets?" I nod dumbly. The waiter jots something down on their pad, "I'll get ya the wasaka berry cobbler then, sound good?"

"Yeah, thank you." The waiter leaves again, but the awkwardness of that interaction I just stumbled my way through remains. I see Han regarding me with a look I'm getting pretty used to seeing on his face by now. Like I was a freak. "I can't read your written language, remember?"

"Right," he says slowly. "So, wait a minute. You mean to tell me you traveled  _billions upon billions_ of lightyears to get from your galaxy to Jakku and you don't know how? You just woke up in the Graveyard?" Incredulity laces through his tone.

"Listen, it makes about as much sense to me as it does to you." I retort. "I'm just telling you what happened because you asked, I don't claim that any of this makes sense to me either or that I even remotely know what's going on! Hell, I feel like I'm holding on to my sanity by a thread! Do you know what my last twenty-four hours have been like? Because it's been _bonkers_. I was just going along, living my life on Earth when I get hit  _by a flippin' car_  and wake up not knowing where I am and just getting cryptic messages from my phone to find you!" I pointedly leave out the fictional aspect of this universe. One giant truth bomb at a time.

Han straightens up at this, looking intrigued.

"What do you mean you got a message to come and find me?" There's a soft growl coming from Chewie and I quickly pull out my phone to show them the text.

"I got it the moment I landed here and I have no idea who sent it. And at the time I just thought 'Sure, why not follow the mysterious orders around? It's not like I've got anything better to do.'" Han takes the phone from my hands, looking at the text with furrowed brows.

"I can't read it," he says, "I know my fair share of languages but I don't recognize this one."

"It's English," I explain, "my language." Han shakes his head, rubbing one hand over his face.

"By the Force," he sighs. We fall into silence after that and eat in silence once our food arrives. I keep my head bowed as Han mulls everything over, wondering if he's going to drop me, considering me more trouble than I'm worth and stranding me here on Kafrene. Chewie roars gregariously to me and hands me a handful of his protato wedges. I'm not entirely sure what he said but it feels accepting and I give him a faint smile in return as I nibble hesitantly into a wedge.

"Thanks Chewie," I say.

We pay and exit the restaurant and Han has still yet to say anything. We are standing by one of the street heaters when he finally speaks.

"Well, whatever." He shrugs, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "What does it matter to me where you come from?" And just like that, Han has shrugged off all my worries. I feel my insides bubble up with an intoxicating rush of hope. I hadn't realized just how much I was waiting to see how he would react so that I would know how to react. This situation is crazy, messed up, and dragging me by my teeth through one long endless nightmare but if Han can shrug it off then maybe I can convince myself that this will all turn out okay. Like maybe it's not the shit show I think it is. That somehow a tide this big and black isn't actually that big of a deal and it'll all work itself out somehow.

"Yeah?"

"Sure," he shrugs again and casts me a crooked smile. "C'mon now, let's go to the rendezvous point."


	3. The Uterus Strikes Back!

            We’re in a remote part of the city now. The streets are barren and all the windows are barred; holographic signs decorate the doorways soliciting a good time with scantily clad women. Apparently even in a galaxy far, far, away, men are still men even if they’re not _men_.

            I wrap my arms tightly around myself and I regret me decision to not bring my parka along as I stare at the raunchy holo sign across the street from me of a topless three-breasted alien woman riding what looks like a mechanical bull. It was slowly rotating over a set of saloon doors which Han and Chewie had disappeared through almost half an hour ago. Han had left me to wait outside as they went to go meet their contact, not wanting to bring me into a place so obviously not meant for women, leaving me to huddle for warmth by the nearest space heater.

            The street is quiet for the most part, despite the constant drone of ships whizzing by far above the street. Behind me is the dark mouth of a narrow alley and from somewhere in the darkness I can hear the continuous drip of a leaky pipe and the hum of the street generators that were keeping me warm. From somewhere down the street, someone coughs.

            My only warning is the dark chuckle that comes from behind me before—

            WHAM!

            I see the glint of light but it doesn’t register until my ears are already ringing and I can feel a warmth blossoming across the side of my face as blood gushes down from my head wound.

            I whirl around, unsure where my attacker is and I have to squint to keep the blood from getting in my eyes.

            This time I see the claw hammer in time and dodge right.

            The hammer hits the alley wall with an echoing _CLANNNG!_ And leaving a sizable dent in its wake.

            I throw myself at the arm holding the hammer and we both go down.

            As a quick note to all of you: when under a surprise attach, the best move is to crowd your opponent. It makes it harder for them to land effective hits when you’re close enough to mouth kiss (and screaming in their ear).

            We hit the ground and I’m clawing, scratching, spitting, biting anything that comes within reach.

            I hear a clatter as the hammer goes skittering across the dark alley floor.

            As we continue to wrestle, I manage to slip my arm around their neck, trapping them in a headlock, pinning the dark mass beneath me.

            “I admire your bravery, jumping a girl in a dark alley and all, but this might not end well for you,” I breath. My voice comes out haggard and I can feel the adrenaline pounding in my ears and the darkness spins worryingly before me.

            “That’s some pretty bit talk,” they choke out, struggling against my headlock.

            “Thank you for noticing, I’ve always wanted to say something like that. But I’ve never gotten the chance.” I tighten my hold. “Now, what do you want?” But they just growl. I squeeze harder. “Tell me!” My voice is hard and loud, echoing back to me off the metallic walls menacingly. They claw at my arms, fingernails digging into my skin as they scratch me. It is them that it comes to my attention that maybe my hold is too tight, that I’m choking them.

            I’ve let go before I realize what I’m doing. I’ve never used the headlock or any of my self-defense training outside of sparring sessions with my brothers and the idea of truly hurting someone else sends a sickening wave through me.

            I dig my phone out of my pocket, shining the flashlight on their face and getting a good look at my attacker for the first time.

            It’s Sloth from _The Goonies._ Or, his equally jacked-up looking cousin. He has a pig nose and his skin is mottled like it’s been corroded by acid and he’s coughing on the alley floor. He glowers up at me but I hold my ground.

            “Guess someone underestimated their target.” I say. My voice is surprisingly steady as I squeeze my arm against my side to keep myself from shaking.

            “You’ve made a powerful enemy today, girlie,” he growls.

            “I doubt that.”

            “My associate and I are wanted me in twelve different systems!” I pull my blaster from its holster, the nose f the pistol visible in the flashlight’s beam. The animosity drops from my attacker’s face as he spots the gun in my hand.

            “Shoo.” He glowers at me again but then shoots another glance at the gun. Getting up off the ground, he slowly backs out of the alley before turning and darting off into the seedy streets of the Red-light District.

            Once he’s gone, I holster my gun and stumble on shaking legs over to the alley wall and dry heave as my mind and body wage war over how I should react. Blood is pounding in my ears and a cold sweat has broken out all over my body. 

            Oh my god, did I just do that? _Is this real?_ Did that just happen??

            My head swims and I realize my shirt is soaked in blood and that I need to staunch my headwound before I pass out but there’s nothing in this alley for me to use and all I have are the clothes on my back

            Frick.

            I stumble my way into the strip club in search of Han and Chewie. The crowd parts easily, the patrons giving me a wide berth making it quick work to find them. They’re sitting with a green alien with spikes all over their head and large black eyes wearing a red jacket.

            “Hey, are—stop screaming it’s just me—are we almost done here? Because I need to get back to the ship.” I keep my voice dry and casual as Han starts, yelling out in surprise. Chewie roars and the green alien spits out their drink in shock.

            “Jade, what in the _galaxy_ happened to you?” Han finally says after a while of opening and closing his mouth with no words coming out.

            “I got hit in the head with a hammer, _can we go now?”_ I say testily. Han turns to the green alien.

            “Greedo, I think we’re all set. I’ll contact you when we reach Rodia.” Greedo laughs, clearly amused by the antics unfolding before him.

            “We’re all set,” he says in a clipped alien accent, “but Han, who is this?” I can practically see the mirth shining in his bulbous black eyes.

            “I’m Jade and I have a bleeding head wound that needs attention.” I say sardonically, holding out my hand. “You are?”

            “Greedo,” says Greedo, shaking my hand. His skin is scaly and pea-green and rough against my own skin. “ _Bounty hunter_.” He says, as if this was supposed to be impressive.

            We exit soon after, wrapping up the rest of Han’s business as quickly as possible. Chewie carries me back to the ship when my surroundings don’t stop spinning and Han gives me his handkerchief to try and help staunch the blood flow. I rest my head against Chewie’s furry chest as I start to lose consciousness. All I can think about is that if landing in this Galaxy was the first catastrophe and that attack was number two, all I could do was sit and wonder, waiting to see when number three would hit.

            Later that night, I lie awake in my bunk. I don’t want to have another fitful nightmare like earlier, I don’t think Han and Chewie will appreciate me waking them up with my screaming again. Instead I decide to take stock of the last twenty-four-ish hours and categorize everything thing I know about _Star Wars_ the franchise as if my life depends on it—because who knows, maybe one day it will. I think I actually have seen some of the movies, I have vague memories of a white-faced woman with red dots on her face, of some kind of spaceship race through a canyon, and a little blond boy— _Luke!_ The little kid is Luke. Some blue alien woman signing at an opera house—wait no I think that’s from that one Bruce Willis movie ( _The Fifth Element…?)._

            Okay none of that is actually helpful, Nancy, try again.

             _Uhhhhh_ , Death Star? Yoda? Gold bikini?

            Well now you’re just saying words.

            I flop my head back against my pillow, staring up at the bottom of the bunk above me. I can’t help but feel as though I’ve just been forced to take the final exam for a class I didn’t know I was signed up for and therefore didn’t show up once for the entire semester.

            Even in the silence I can hear the clang of pipes settling in the Falcon, aliens conversing outside, and the occasional dull roar as new ship dock or take off. I allow my thoughts to drift once I realize once I realize that torturing myself with unanswerable questions is a waste of time. The occasional quite snore from Han and the deep grumble that comes from Chewie is the only thing that reminds me that I am not alone in the darkness and I take comfort is their quiet existence. This is how I pass the time until they wake up again, there is no daybreak to herald the morning but after six or so hours they wake up and we leave Kafrene.

* * *

 

_“Life could be a dream! Life could be a dreeeeeam!”_

            “Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! SHIT!” I’m sprinting full-tilt across the craggy ground of a crater, complete and utter pandemonium breaking out behind me as I dove for the only solid cover around—a large-ish boulder. Han is beside me, swearing up a storm as he fires his blaster again and again. Chewbacca was in the gunner’s chair of the _Millennium Falcon,_ letting out a guttural roar as he releases a maelstrom of laser energy that the wriggling, writhing, screeching mass that was the baby Sarlacc we were fighting. All the while Sh Boom sung by Kenny Vance and the Planotones serenades us in the background.

            “ _’Take the online job’_ she said.  _‘It’ll be easier than smuggling’_ , she said, ‘ _It’s immoral’_!” Han shouts, clearly agitated and regretting his choice in trusting me to choose what job we did next. In my defense, when I saw the listing for a pest extermination job pop up on Tatooine, I thought we’d be just, like, going to one of the moisture farms and killing space-roaches not fighting a giant, writhing, tentacled monster. Talk about misleading advertising.

_“Life could be a dream! If I could take you up in paradise up above (sh-boom).”_

            “You cannot blame me! The ad didn’t mention this!” I screech as I open fire at the Sarlacc with my blaster. An inhuman wailing fills the air around us as the baby Sarlacc screams, thrashing its tentacles violently.

            “Your first clue should have been the enormous price, JD!” Han shouts back.

_“If you would tell me I'm the only one that you love! Life could be a dream sweetheart.”_

            I let out a scream of my own as a tentacle wraps around my leg, sending me flying through the air. I aim my blaster, shooting at the thing wrapped around me as it flings me about like the least fun mechanical bull ride in the galaxy. From the ground I hear Han and Kenny Vance’s voices.

            “Die! You blasted thing!” Han then proceeded to chuck three grenades into the Sarlacc’s mouth.

_“Hello hello again, sh-boom and hopin' we'll meet again!”_

            The tentacle drops me and I fall ungracefully to the ground, the air rushing out of my lungs with a wheezy _‘Oof!_ ’. I can tell my entire ass will probably be just one big bruise for the next two weeks. For a moment, nothing happens. But then the Sarlacc explodes, showering us in blue and green chunks. 

            “Ugh,” I kick a tentacle chunk off my boot as blue slimy blood mats my hair and falls off in globs. It reeks like puss and water-logged dead skin and that hot stench that seems to be strictly reserved for outhouses at the summer county fair.

_“Life could be a dream! Life could be a dream! Dee-oody-ooh, sh-boom, sh-boom…”_

            “You are hereby banned from offering ideas until further notice.” Han says, chest heaving. I can see baby Sarlacc pieces nestled in his hair, held in place by the sticky, oozy quality of its blood.

            “That’s fair.”

            “And you’re showering second.”

            Damnit. I make a face at him but he just whirls around and storms up the ramp to the Millennium Falcon.

            The sonic showers on the ship didn’t even use water and were always a little lackluster when compared to the hot water showers I had grown up with back home on Earth. The fact that I was being deprived of my kinda shitty pseudo-shower really bites. I sit next to Chewie in the cockpit, looking like a war-torn Seahawks fan after the Super-Bowl, as he pilots us away from the baby Sarlacc nest. Han has already disappeared off to the refresher, a word which here means: stupid space-bathroom with non-water shower.

            There were a lot of things that took some getting used to in this bizarre Star Wars-themed universe I now found myself in. Bigfoot was a Wookie, pistols were called blasters, showers didn't use water, and my iPhone sometimes sends me prophetic text messages.

            My phone had been the one to show me the online extermination listing. My phone never left 58%, the time never changed from 5:40pm and even though I still had no signal, I was somehow still able to receive text messages like the one that had originally directed me to Han. All from the same collection of unintelligible symbols which I took to be a phone number.

             I had been here less than a month and had already maxed out by ability to be confused by my current situation.

            I pull my phone out of its little Macgyvered port where it had been playing music off my butt-kicking playlist and unlock my phone, I scroll through my apps for something to do. I undownloaded my social media apps or anything that required wifi or a signal of any sort (because what was the point in having it, honestly?) leaving me with solitaire, the few things I had downloaded off Netflix, and all of my music thanks to my Spotify Premium account (I mean, it’s only $4.99 for students, why wouldn’t you?). I decide on an episode of Law & Order: SVU and get most of the way through it when Han finally reappears in a clean set of clothes and goo free.

            “You’re turn.”

            “Dope.” We trade places, and Han immediately begins punching buttons and setting a new course. “Where’re we goin’?”

            “Making a quick visit to Jabba before we head out.” Han explains. Jabba is this great big ugly slug thug that Han will occasionally take smuggling jobs from. “Says he’s got a job for us.”

            “Ugh _gross_ , okay.”

            I clean myself off in the sonic shower, but it’s just not the same. I really enjoyed the whole cleansing and pampering routine back home and had no idea how big a role the hot water made. I try to make the most of it on the Falcon. I wash my face, brush my hair thoroughly before plaiting it, and I had even managed to get Han to pick me up some lotion at the last city we visited and it has this nice warm, rich scent to it that help me feel a little more normal every time I put it on.

            I feel _A Drop_ ; if you’re a fellow lady, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

            Aw man.

            You know what never happens to the leading ladies in action and adventure movies? Their mother-flippin’ periods.

            I stick my head into the cockpit, feeling the preemptive awkwardness. “Um Han?” He grunts in acknowledgement. “Can we go to Anchorhead before we go to Jabba? I’ve got to go pick something up.”

            “Seriously, JD?” I purse my lips, not really wanting to go into the details of my uterine lining shedding and excreting itself out my vagina.

            “Yeah, seriously.”

            He watches me, eyes narrowing and I hold his gaze the way my dad had taught me to. “I need, uh, _feminine things.”_ He seems to get it now and turns back around to the console, sighing.

            “Chewie, change course, we’re making a quick stop in Anchorhead.”  Blushing, I smile appreciatively at the back of Han’s head.

            I hug him from behind, he really is the only and closest thing I have to a friend here. “Thanks, Han.”

            “Yeah, yeah, okay enough with the mushy stuff. Alright?” He says, waving me off.

            Anchorhead is the Tatooine metropolis with tall, white, domed buildings, smaller adobe style buildings and beautiful, oddly shaped glass buildings that glitter amazingly under the planet’s twin suns. The Anchorhead ship port is situated at the center with the rest of the city sprawling out around it meaning that as you come in, you get to see Anchorhead in all its glory, as if the city is trying to show off to you.

             Once landed, Han pays for a thirty-minute spot in the port and together we go across the street to the drug store. Inside, I am reminded again of one of my many shortcomings in this galaxy and immediately turn around to go back to where Han is. He had opted to stand outside, not wanting to accompany me on my feminine quest.

            “Han,” he turns to me, eyebrows raised. “I can’t read.” His face drops and a look of resignation falls over his features. He sighs the sigh of a man incredibly put upon, shoulders drooping.

            “Alright,” he says, “let’s get this over with, JD.” I cast him an apologetic smile, knowing how awkward he must feel.

            “Thanks again, Han.”

            “Don’t mention it.” He says gruffly, probably genuinely hoping that I really do never mention it. “So, what are we looking for?”

            “Uh, tampons? Pads? Feminine hygiene products? It would be in the women’s section…”

            Together we navigate the drug store. Everything seems to be a different shade of dark brown in the little adobe style shop, the aisles are tall and narrow and the air is warm and musty. The whole effect makes you feel like you’re in a labyrinthian cave.

            We finally find some pads though, tucked away along the back wall. Han grabs five boxes, (you know, to stock up) hands them to me and then shoves the appropriate amount of money into my free hand.

            “Here, you’re paying. I’m going outside.”

            “Fair enough,” I go up to the counter, placing the money and boxes on the table. Behind the counter is an alien of undeterminable gender. They have fluorescent yellow skin, short orange tentacles for hair and glowing blue eyes.

            “Wiiiiiiill that be aaaaaaall, hmmm?” They ask, their voice coming out as a cross between a sigh and a hiss. I couldn’t see their mouth.

            “Uh,” I spot what looks like a candy bar beside the register and decide to throw two if those in as well, “now it is.” The cashier nods and rings me up.

            “Twenty-six creditssssss.” I push the money Han gave me toward the alien. They look at me and then back down at the currency before picking out what they need. They hand the rest back to me, their cool, scaly skin rippling against mine. “Have a niiiiiice dayyyy.”

            “Uh, yeah, you too,” I say, rather awkwardly as I pick up my bag of pads and chocolate bars.

            Meeting back up with Han and Chewie, I sigh and now it’s my turn to wilt as my shoulders sag. Somehow this little excursion has tired me out more that the Sarlacc fight.

            You see, fighting, I get. You throw punches and things go ow and it makes sense to me; it’s universal. Aliens, with alien dialects and alien writing and alien customs, though? You can’t punch that, you just have to fumble your way through it while everyone looks at you like you’re some big dumb idiot.

            Once back on the ship, surrounded by its familiarity, I relax. It’s a hunk of junk compared to most other space ships, but it’s the closest thing I have to a home and a safe haven in this galaxy.

            “Alright,” I sigh, “let’s go see what Jabba wants.” I hope it’s merc work, I want to punch something.

* * *

 

            It’s not merc work.

            I stand behind Han, beside Chewie with my hands shoved deep in my pockets as I look around casually at Jabba’s lair. It is a darkly lit dungeon of a room, with only small shafts of light streaming though the high slotted windows. It reeks of blood and sweat and farts and is filled with scantily clad alien women and well-armed bounty hunters.  Leaning against one wall, I spot Boba Fett and smirk at him, twiddling my fingers at the bounty hunter. I brush my fingers against my blaster and even though I can’t see his facial features, I bet he’s scowling right now but I can’t fully enjoy it because it currently feels like someone is beating my lower abdomen with a meat tenderizer.

            We should have picked up pain killers while at the drug store, damnit.

            Han and I had run into Boba Fett a few times since the first, none of them had been nearly as exciting. I can feel that since that first fight, I’ve grabbed the infamous Boba Fett’s attention and I can’t tell if it’s a good thing or not. I can feel his eyes on me whenever he’s around but he has yet to make a move of either a good or bad nature. Like, does he think I’m cute? Is he trying to work up the courage to ask me out? Or is he plotting his revenge to kill me because I humiliated him by mopping the floor with his butt? We just don’t know.

            Speaking of liking me, Jabba definitely has his eyes on me but I can’t tell if he wants me more as one of his sexy little slaves or as one of his bounty hunters—maybe both, maybe he’d have me slut it up as sexy space Elektra in her red suit or Starfire in her ridiculous purple space bikini thing.

            Han has been negotiating the finer details with Jabba of our latest smuggling job and from what I can tell, he has a shipment of some kind of illegal drug that he wants us to pick up and bring back to him. The shipment is on a planet called Jedha, which means nothing to me but the way Han reacts, it’s clearly a big deal.

            “What? Listen Jabba, I’m willing to go but I’m going to have to raise my price another five thousand for Jedha. The planet is crawling with Imperials, Saw Gurrera’s extremists, _and_ an active war zone! It won’t exactly be a walk it the park to get your shipment—not saying that I can’t do it, of course.”

            “But Han, this is exactly why I can only trust you with this mission, I know no other smuggler duo nearly as competent as you and your lovely assistant.” Jabba gargles, refusing to increase his price.

            “Now listen Jabba, the more dangerous the mission the higher the price, it’s only reasonable,” Han argues, growing irritable.

            “This shipment is highly valuable to me, Solo,” Jabba says, “I will pay you your ten thousand now, and another five once the everything has safely been delivered.” I feel Han start. Fifteen thousand! “But if you fail, I will make sure you never work again.”

            “Jabba, we won’t fail,” Han says confidently, “I’ll bet JD here that if we fail I will willingly give her over to you and she can work for you as you please.” My head snaps up— _what did he just say?_ Jabba lets out a throaty laugh, his whole body jiggling.

            “I will hold you to that, Solo,” he says with a gleam in his bulbous eyes.

            I keep silent the whole way back to the Falcon, my lips pursed into a thin white line. My eyes are burning and I can feel heat rushing underneath my skin as anger digs its thick, meaty fingers into my chest and work its way up my throat. The moment we reach the sanctuary of our ship, Han is no longer safe.

            “What. The. _Hell._ Han?” I accuse hotly, punctuating each word by hitting him with my sweatshirt that had previously been laying across one of the chairs in the main hold. He yelps in surprise, throwing his arms up to protect himself from my wrath _. “Have you lost your flippin’ mind?”_ I shout.

            “JD—.” Han begins, but I cut him off by chucking my sweatshirt at him.

            “Don’t you ‘JD’ me, I’m mad at you right now!” It feels like I have a swarm of bees buzzing around inside me as I look around for something else to throw at him.

            “JD, please! I have complete confidence in—!” Han tries again.

            “That’s not the point!” I chuck my boot at him. He ducks. “You don’t use people as bartering chips, Solo!” I throw my other boot at him and this one hits him square in the chest with an _thwump_. “I’m not your slave! You can’t just trade me in to pay off a debt! That’s incredibly disrespectful!” I can feel my eyes burn and I blink them back furiously. I’ve always been one of those people who cries easily and I hate it.

            I stomp my feet against the metal floor. From behind me, Chewie roars.

            “Oh, don’t tell me you agree with her!” Han says exasperatedly, “you’re both overreacting, everything will be fine.” I glare at the ground. I can’t bring myself to even look in his direction.

            “I’m going to go,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady, “if I stay here any longer I’ll just end up punching you.” I whip around and quickly leave the main hold. Chewie gives me a gentle pat on the head as I walk out, growling gently. At least there’s one person on this ship who agrees with me.

            I make my way to the Crew Quarters and curl up on my bed, punching my pillow repeatedly before settling down. I clutch my knees to my chest as I glare out the window as the ship slowly takes off from Tatooine. The sandy planet shrinks rapidly as we leave the atmosphere, passing by its twin suns before all the colors of space start to bleed together as we make the jump to hyperspace.


	4. Uh Oh, Spaghetti Oh’s!

“Han,” I growl in frustration. I drop my head into my hands as we reenter the Tatooine atmosphere.

“JD, we’ll be fine,” Han tries to reassure me, “it was just one shipment, Jabba will understand, okay? I mean, the planet was _blowing up!_ What were we going to do about that? If it wasn’t for your little doodad, I don’t know if we would have gotten out of there in time. Besides, we can make the money easy and pay him back. We’ll go to Anchorhead, find a well-paying job and have the money by the end of the day, just you wait.”

“Easy for you to say, it’s not going to be _your_ butt in a bikini if this goes south,” I grumble.

_Bzz._

I frown and pull out my phone. One new text message. _“Go to the Mos Eisley cantina.”_ I twitch my mouth to the side, pondering the spontaneous text. There is almost never any rhyme or reason to the messages, always leaving me to have blind faith in following the Phone’s directions but as far as I can tell they’ve never lead me astray.

“What about Mos Eisley, instead?”

“Mos Eisley?” Han turns around in his captain’s chair to look at me, “Mos Eisley is a smaller township-- there’s bound to be less high paying jobs.”

“Yeah, but people are likely to be desperate for a ship. We can upcharge them more easily.” I counter.

“It’s closer to Jabba’s lair though,” he argues.

“Then we’ll be extra sneaky.” I can see Han thinking this over before nodding.

“Alright, Mos Eisley it is,” he shrugs, changing courses.

Mos Eisley is a far less impressive town than Anchorhead. It’s smaller and everything is covered in a fine layer of grime from the sand that surrounds them and makes me think of a futuristic Babylonian empire; both old looking and neo-futuristic at the same time. The port is far more barren and we dock in bay ninety-four with ease.

“Alright, I reckon we head to the cantina first, I usually have pretty good luck there,” Han declares, putting his hands on his hips. I’m glad he made the suggestion without my prompting because I get enough weird looks from Han as it is, what with the whole never knowing anything at all ever. “Oh, and JD,” Han whirls around to face me, “do _try_ to not start a bar fight, okay? I can’t afford to get kicked out.”

“I make no promises.” This makes Chewie chuckle and Han shoot me a dirty look.

The Mos Eisley cantina is in a large white adobe building and far from charming. The outside is cluttered with spaceship debris and tethered animals that I did not have the vocabulary to describe. One looked like a bipedal camel while the other looked like a straight up prehistoric dinosaur, all green and scaly and slimy looking with its great big maw. The inside is cool and dark and teeming with all sorts of alien life drinking, talking, gambling, and making illicit deals in its shadowy corners.

            Han had warned me the bar was filled with all types of unsavory characters and that, for the sake of his sanity, it’d probably be best if I waited at the door to which I reminded him of the last time he made me wait outside and I ended up crashing his dinner party with Greedo looking like Carrie on prom night. But Han refused to budge on the issue.

“No, no, JD, you’re still on probation from the _last_ time you made a suggestion. _I can still_ _smell_ that Sarlacc.”

“Oh my god,” I sigh in exasperation, throwing my hands up in the air. “I am never going to live that down, am I? Han, it was _one_ time, _and_ it was a baby. Not even a fully grown one.”

“Fine,” he parks me at the bar as if I were some dog. “Do not move from this spot, alright? And _no_ bar fights.”  I roll my eyes. You throw _one_ chair at a guy who tries to grab your butt on Rodia and you can never live it down, I guess.

 “ _Fine_ ,” I grumble, flopping against the glowing white bar of the cantina. Han moves off to grab a booth and Chewie seats himself some little ways away from me, also at the bar.

Shoving my hands deep into the pockets of my cargo pants (man I love having big pockets), I let my eyes scan the room from my spot and begin to wonder what’s happening back home on Earth right now. Is time frozen, Narnia style? Have I gone missing and now my entire family is spear-heading a nation-wide man-hunt to look for me? I wonder how dad and Nate and Ben and Theo are taking my disappearance. I wonder how James and everyone at the Sundance Home are doing. It’s been a month by now, surely, I wonder if they’ve given up and buried an empty casket yet, or if maybe I’m actually a human vegetable right now laying in St. Joseph’s. Am I surrounded by everyone right now? I try to imagine what my hospital room might look like, what kinds of things Nate, Theo, and Ben might have brought to decorate my room. Is James there right now? I wonder how often he visits…

I am so lost in thought, I almost miss the old man, young boy and two droids roll up in the cantina.  One of the robots looks like the more successful cousin of the Tin Man, the other robot just looks like a trash can someone has painted white and blue and glued wheels to. The boy is wearing all white and looks like Malibu Ken and if I were to guess his age I would place him in late teens. The other man is dressed in dark robes and looks like a slightly younger space-themed Dumbledore.

“Hey! We don’t serve their kind here!” The bartender shouts from behind me. I watch Malibu Ken converse with his two robots, Tin Man and the trash can, sending them back outside before following after Space Dumbledore.

I make eye contact with Malibu Ken as they walk up to the bar and he has the most impossibly blue eyes and fluffy looking blond hair. Space Dumbledore makes a beeline for the bar and immediately begins to converse with some of the patrons. I give them a polite nod as they pass. Dumbledore does a double take, sending me a strange look.

Okay. Weird.

I thought nodding was pretty universal but I guess not. I hope I didn’t just offend them, that would be awkward. I frown at the ground and once again find myself being reminded of just how much of an outsider I am here.

—Wait was that Greedo? I squint as I try to get a better look and sure enough, tucked away in the dark corner of the cantina, I can see a green alien with big black eyes and spikes all over his head.

Uh oh, spaghetti-oh’s.

“We’re wanted men! I have the death sentence in twelve systems!” I stop in my tracks. Well, that line sounds familiar.

I turn around to see Sloth’s ugly cousin harassing Malibu Ken. The alien next to him bringing a whole new meaning to the saying “Butthead”.

“Oh my god,” I groan, this gets their attention and when I lock eyes with Sloth I know he recognizes me even though he never saw my face. “ _You again?_ Seriously, cut it out with the twelve systems line, buddy, it’s not intimidating!”

“You!” He points an accusatory finger at me. “You’re the girl from Kafrene!” I raise my hands and shrug as if to say, _‘yup that’s me, what are you going to do about it?’_

“Yeah, you wanna broadcast what _‘the girl from Kafrene’_ did to you in that dark alley, too? Because I’ll do it again if you want.” I pause, Sloth and I stare at each other for a beat. Ken and Butthead looking between us. “Wait that came out wrong, let me rephrase.”

“I’ll be careful,” Malibu Ken says, clearly trying to slip away from the confrontation as innocuously as possible but his movement recatches the attention of Sloth.

“You’ll be _dead!_ ” Sloth grabs Ken by the front of his tunic and tosses him.

I catch Malibu Ken in my arms before he has a chance to go tumbling down. He seems utterly frazzled, staring up at me with wide eyes. I’ve caught him around the waist and his face is flushing a dark pink with his arms wrapped around my neck. “You alright?”

“Uhh… yeah,” he says, his voice breaking. “Could you maybe put me down now?” I hear a commotion break out behind me and I turn just in time to see Dumbledore whip out a laser sword and chop off Sloth’s arm. Ken lets out a cry of surprise, going pale as the severed arms lays twitching and bloody on the ground, slowly unraveling from a fist as it realizes it’s now no longer connected to its body.

I set Malibu Ken down in front of Dumbledore, “I believe this belongs to you.” The old man flashes me a peculiar look and I frown.

“Um, thank you for catching me back there,” says Malibu Ken. I shrug.

“Yeah, no problem, I—” Nancy, don’t you have a bounty hunter to be worrying about right now? “—I’ve… got to go. Bye!”

“Wait, what’s your name? Hey!” I hear Malibu Ken call after me but I’m already weaving my way through the crowded cantina. Sorry Ken, I have rash and stupid things I need to be doing.

 “Greedo,” I greet Greedo with a glossy smile, sliding down into the seat across from him.

“Jade, good to see you. I hear you will soon be in the custody of Jabba the Hutt,” Greedo says, his voice coming out clipped and crackly.

“Mm, yes that is the rumor, isn’t it?” I say thoughtfully, placing my chin in my hand, “unfortunately, you’ll have to send my condolences to Jabba that I won’t be joining him just yet.”

“I don’t believe you have a choice,” Greedo replies, resting his blaster on the table with the barrel pointed at me. I scrunch up my face, looking distastefully at the gun. How very… _tactless_ , but then, Greedo was not known for being the brightest bounty hunter.

“Now Greedo,” I chide, “all I meant was that I figured Jabba would prefer for me to bring all the money Han has been hiding on his ship with me.”

“What?” Greedo leans in and I smile conspiratorially.

“Oh yeah,” with Greedo distracted, I snatch his blaster away from and bring the butt of the blaster down as hard as I can on his head. Greedo slumps forward, unconscious.

I hold on to Greedo’s blaster as I make my way back over to where Han is only to see him and Chewie sitting down and talking to Dumbledore and Malibu Ken.  Their heads are bent low, deep in discussion, but I can’t make out a word of what they’re saying over the din.

“Han,” I say, slapping my hand down on the table between Ken and Dumbledore, making my presence know.

“Jade! Just in time!” Han says ecstatically, he’s rubbing his hands together and by the glint in his eye I can tell he just closed a good deal. “These are our new passengers. I want you to take _good care_ of this old man and farm boy. They’re paying us _seventeen thousand_ to take them to Alderaan and they don’t want any trouble with the Empire. You can do that, can’t you?”

“Wait, _she’s_ going to be our bodyguard?” Ken the farm boy says incredulously, looking between me and Han and Dumbledore.

 “I had a run-in with Greedo,” I begin, ignoring Ken.

“JD what did I say about—.”

“I didn’t fight him,” I say, cutting him off, “but he’s probably already—” but then for the second time today I hear a commotion from behind me and turn to see those soldiers—uh, what did Han call them? _Sandtroopers?_ At the entrance, speaking to the bartender and the bartender is gesturing animatedly in our direction.

“Looks like someone has taken an interest in your handiwork,” Han comments, raising one eyebrow at Dumbledore.

“Time for a disappearing act,” I mutter, “come on old man, farm boy. We’ll sneak out the back.” I usher them out before turning around and rushing back to Han to quickly say “I’ve probably only bought us a thirty-minute head start at most, I’d get back to the ship immediately.” He gives me a curt nod and I follow Ken and Dumbledore out.

Outside the cantina, I jog to catch up to our new passengers who are taking off at a brisk walk.

“You’ll have to sell your speeder,” Dumbledore says.

“That’s okay, I’m never coming back to this planet again,” Ken grumbles. They walk up to what looks like a dusty red hover car ripped right out of The Jetsons, standing next to it are Tin Man and trash can. Dumbledore turns to me, addressing me for the first time.

“You girl, what’s your name?” He asks, “I don’t believe we’ve ever been formally introduced.”

“Jade,” I say, holding out my hand. He takes it, shaking my hand politely. “And you two?”

“I am Obi-wan Kenobi,” says Obi-wan Kenobi, “this here, is Luke.” I shake Luke’s hand and I can’t help but notice how incredibly warm it is. His hands are broad and flat with wide, square fingers covered in heavy callouses from years of hard labor. “I wish we had more time for pleasantries, but I need you to accompany young Luke here as he goes to sell his speeder.” I nod, this shouldn’t be a problem. Judging from the display inside the cantina, it seems like Obi-wan can take care of himself. “I have things of my own I need to do, I’ll meet you two at the ship…”

“Docking bay ninty-four,” I supply, Obi-wan nods, repeating this. “Don’t take too long, whatever it is you need to do, okay?” And then we part ways. We take the hover car and Obi-wan quickly disappears into the crowd.

Luke looks at me as we walk and I try to ignore it. I keep my hands tucked into the pockets of my pants as we look for a good spot to try and sell the hover car. All the while, I can feel the prickling sensation on the back of my neck from an unwavering gaze. God, what is it with this kid? Do I have a giant zit on my forehead or something?

 Finally, I clear my throat.

“Shouldn’t you be trying to sell that thing?” I ask, turning around to look him in the eye. Luke raises his eyebrows as if, oh yeah, that’s what we were supposed to be doing.

“Right, yeah, sorry,” he shakes his head, finally turning away from me and beginning to barter with the aliens approaching the vehicle.

_Bzz._

Oh boy.

I pull my phone out of my pocket to see a new text appear on the screen. “Tail. Six o’clock,” it reads. I whip my head around to look behind me and sure enough, at the end of the street I spot a figure dressed in all black quickly dip out of sight.

“Look at this, ever since the SP38 came out, they just aren’t in demand anymore,” Luke sighs, showing me the money he got for his hover car speeder-thing.

“I’m sure it’ll be enough,” I say, my eyes still scanning the area. “We need to move, though, come on.” Luke seems a little startled in my sudden change in disposition but silently follows me as I take off down the street.

“Is something wrong?” Luke asks, his long legs making it easy for him to keep up with me.

“We have a tail,” I explain. I quirk my mouth to the side and thinking quickly, I grab Luke’s hand. Now we’re just a happy couple strolling through Mos Eisley. La la la la la.

I shoot a glance over Luke’s shoulder and get a better look at our tail. All black, with some kind of gas mask on.

“Great,” I hiss. Luke looks down at me, bewildered. His brow scrunching up as if he’s thinking why has this girl suddenly grabbed his hand? And should he be concerned that he is in the presence of a raving lunatic? Dragging Luke behind me by his hand, I quickly pull us around a corner. I wrack my brain for what I remember dad telling us about how to tell if you’re being followed and what to do if you are.

“Okay, Luke you’re going to need to make the rest of the way back to the port on your own. Just follow this street and then take a left. It’s the big grey hanger—real hard to miss.”

“What? No, I’m not leaving you behind!” He argues. I shoot him an incredulous look.

“ _Why not?”_ Now it’s his turn to look incredulous.

“What do you _mean_ why not?” We stand there for a moment, both looking at the other like they’re crazy.

I feel like this is my first time getting a good look at him.

He has strong brows set over sky-blue eyes. A wide, slightly protuberant mouth with little creases at the corner that make him look like he’s made for smiling is set over a cleft chin and strong jaw. His lips remind me of a puppy’s mouth with the corners naturally curling up. His face still holds a little bit of baby fat in the cheeks and I can see a patch of acne on one side but I’m sure in a few more years that baby fat will melt off and the acne will clear up and he’ll be dashing.  

God, he looks so young.

“Just,” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose, “just do as I say, okay? You’re _literally_ paying me to protect you, so let me do my job.” Luke opens his mouth, looking as though he’s ready to argue some more but I dip back around the corner before he has the chance to say anything.

I spot the tail almost immediately, lurking in a shady corner adjacent to me. I look around. I need to find a way to approach them without triggering any alarms that will make them run off. Then I spot a giant furry beast lumbering along at ten o’clock.

Bingo.

I dart behind it, using the beast as cover to edge closer.

“Ah hem,” I clear my throat, making my presence known. I’m leaning casually against the wall directly behind the tail. They whirl around, letting out a shriek as I pounce. Grabbing them, I smack their head against the wall.

“Hi my name’s Jade, what’s yours?”

“Go to hell!” I frown, still holding the tail by a fistful of their hood and mask at the back of their head.

“No, I don’t think that’s your name. Let’s try this again.” I smack their head against the wall again. “Hi, my name’s Jade. What’s yours?”

“al-Ashira.”

“See? Now we’re getting somewhere. Why are you following us?” The tail keeps squirming and I’m about to smack their head again when they start to scream, gaining everyone’s attention.

            “Guards! Guards! Guards, over here!” I feel something blazing hot whoosh past my arm and I look down to see a whole burnt through my sleeve. Blaster fire. I look up and see seven soldiers dressed all in white, just like the ones from the cantina, except their armor is shinier and everything about these soldiers looks more polished.

I swear loudly, yanking the tail in front of me as a body shield while the soldiers open fire. Screams fill the air as civilians start to scatter. Its complete pandemonium now. Chunks of the adobe buildings fall off from the gun fire, showering me in dust and rubble.

            I pull out my own blaster. I aim for their hands—one, two, three! Three out of seven soldiers are now down weapons. I shove the tail at them, knocking two more over and make a run for it.

The baskets and crates around me explode from the blaster fire, raining down wicker and splintered wood on me.

Grabbing a stack of crates, I pull it down behind me to block their path. I feel another bolt whiz past my left ear and I dodge instinctively. I can smell burnt hair.

Arms pumping, chest heaving, docking bay ninety- four finally comes into view. I can see Han, Chewie and Luke at the mouth of the _Millennium Falcon_. I wave to them, never slowing down from my sprint.

“Imperials—troopers—Go!”

Han, understanding, disappears inside the falcon and Chewie is dragging Luke up the ramp who seems reluctant to go. I see the _Falcon’s_ engines come to life and the ramp begin to lift. I throw myself at the closing entrance, fingers scrambling to get a hold.

I tumble into the _Millennium Falcon_ , rolling down the ramp and landing face first into the floor of the main room. My limbs are shaking from the adrenaline and lungs are burning from the run.

Note to self, work on cardio.

“Goodness me, R2! I don’t think my circuits can take all this excitement,” says a rather posh robotic voice. Something bleeps in response.

“Are you okay?” I look up to find Luke kneeling in front of me with wide eyes. Obi-wan, the Tin Man and trashcan stand in the background. I groan and lift myself up into a sitting position, all the injuries I had sustained during all the action were beginning to set in as the adrenaline wore off.

“A little crispy, but I’m fine.” I wince as I move my legs. It feels like I’ve pulled something. My shoulder and left ear are stinging and I suspect that when I look in the mirror, I’ll find some gnarly burns.

“Are you sure? You look awful.” I shoot Luke a look.

“Gee thanks,” I grumble. “Gimme a hand, farm boy.” He helps me up.

Just then, the ship give a violent shake and I stumble forward, smashing nose into Luke unfortunately rock-solid chest.

 _Ow_.

            Couldn’t he be a little flabby? That genuinely hurt.

“Damnit, Han!” I shout, pulling myself away and rubbing my nose.

“Sorry about that,” Luke says awkwardly as he scratches the back of his head. I frown at him, silently blaming his deceptively well-built body for the bruise that is no doubt now blossoming on my face.

“Yeah, whatever,” I brush him off, noticing Obi-wan in the corner watching all of this with a single raised eyebrow. “Better go see what all the fuss is about; I’m gunna go clean up a little.” Luke and Obi-wan nod before taking off down the corridor towards the cockpit.

I see what Luke means when he said I look terrible. In the bathroom mirror I look myself over. I’m caked in dust and sweat and a fair about of scorch marks and there are bits of wood and other shrapnel from the skirmish littering my person. The bottom of my earlobe and the side of my neck are horribly burnt but surprisingly intact. A chunk of my hair has been blasted off though, the ends singed and unraveling themselves from the two braids I had previously had them in. I decide that I’ll deal with my hair later, and set about treating my wounds with some bacta.

Bacta is this wonderful cure-all stuff—like Aloe Vera, but better—and I lather it on my ear and the side of my neck and my arm.

The _Millennium Falcon_ gives another lurch and I cry out as I’m thrown off balance, grabbing on to the sink to steady myself.  I can hear a commotion out in the corridor, and at the raised voices, I go to investigate.

“Watch your mouth kid, or you’ll be floating home,” snaps Han.

“Han, what’s going on?” I ask, bracing myself against the door frame as the _Falcon_ shakes violently. Luke notices me and offers me a hand to help steady. I don’t take it.

“We’ve got some exuberant fans,” Han explains while frantically punching buttons into the navigation computer.

“What’s that flashing light?” Luke’s hand shoots out, pointing at a large, angry, flashing red light. Han scowls, slapping his hand away. “Ow!”

“We’re losing our deflector shields,” Han says, “JD, go man the guns just in case. You two better go sit down, we’ll be making the jump to lightspeed any moment.” Han orders. We all nod, going to our respective areas. Luke, Obi-wan, and I sprint down the corridor and I make a beeline for the ladder descending to the gunner’s chair.

“Do you need help? I’m a pretty good shot, I could help.” I turn to see Luke behind me with a glint in his eye, eager to prove himself. Something hot and acrid burns in my stomach and I feel my eyes narrow at him.

“Go strap yourself in, _farm boy_ ,” I dismiss. I have just a moment to catch Luke’s offended expression before sliding down the ladder and landing in the gunner’s chair. 

I have barely enough time to buckle myself in before the Falcon gave one final lurch, the stars and planets outside the glass bleeding together into streaks of light. I can head Han give a triumphant whoop from the cockpit and I smile despite myself.

It’s always nice to survive another day.


	5. Space Ninjas

It’s been a while since we’ve made the jump to lightspeed and everyone has now settled in.

 I’ve taken the chance to finish cleaning up and am now curled up on the couch in the main hold. The Tin Man and the trash can are playing some kind of holographic chess game that Han had once told me the name of but I had forgotten with Chewie while Luke and Obi-wan converse quietly on the couch. I would typically pull out my phone and maybe watch one of the episodes of Law and Order I have downloaded, but with the addition of passengers to our ship, I am hesitant. I’m not sure what to make of Obi-wan yet, and from the way he’s acted around me so far, I would wager he doesn’t know what to make of me yet either.

“Ah hem,” speak of the devil. I look up to find Obi-wan regarding me with kind eyes that I don’t trust and I feel myself bristle instinctively. “Jade, you said your name was?”

“Yes.” He’s smiling gently and I feel a wave of serenity roll off him that puts me on edge. It feels… forced, it stinks of deception and the more that I sense he’s trying to lull me into a false sense of security the less likely I trust the situation. What was with those looks he was giving me back in the cantina?

“So, tell me, how did a young lady such as yourself come to work as the muscle for a smuggler? If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t look to be much older than young Luke here.” At the mention of his name, Luke looks up, leaning in to the conversation.

“I beat this bounty hunter, Boba Fett, in a fight and Han was impressed,” I say, sinking further back into the seat. Both their gazes are on me, unwavering.

“Really?” Luke sounds incredulous, “but you’re so… so…” he waves his hands at me. I bristle.

“I’m so what?” I challenge.

“ _Short!_ ” I blanche. “You’re a pipsqueak!”

“Excuse me?” Now it’s my turn to sound incredulous, “you’re not that much taller than me yourself, farm boy!” I shot back. He was _at most_ a head taller.

“My name is _Luke_ , not farm boy.” I wave my hand, dismissing him. Obi-wan chuckles.

“Jade, how old are you?” Obi-wan asks, trying to subtly guide the conversation back.

“Old enough to kick ass,” I say defiantly. This causes Obi-wan to laugh good naturedly. I don’t know why his kind nature is irritating me so much, if I’m being completely honest and a part of me acknowledges that I’m being ridiculous but I can’t stop myself.

“Now Nancy, play nice with our passengers,” says Han, appearing in the doorway. My head whips around at my first name, my eyes narrowing. “Just ignore her,” he says to Obi-wan and Luke. Luke’s brow puckers as he looks back and forth between Han and I.

“Nancy?” Luke asks, but he is ignored.

“I was playing nice,” I say, but it sounds childish even to my own ears. I cross my arms, scowling out at everyone as a steam roller covered in broken glass presses my lower abdomen into a pancake. Sighing, I meet Obi-wan’s gaze again. Play nice, Nance. “I’m eighteen and as for where I am from, let’s just leave it at I’m not from around here.”

Obi-wan seems to appreciate the honesty and allows the subject to be dropped. He turns to Luke now, giving the farm boy and appraising look on the ground before speaking.

“I believe now is as good a time as any to start your training. We have a while until we reach Alderaan, right, Captain?” Han nods, shrugging one shoulder.

“We’re got a few hours to spare, yeah.” Luke sits up a little straighter, look of pure anticipation coloring his features.

“What? Really? Like—right now?” He asks, a mixture of disbelief and excitement in his voice. I wrinkle my nose at them, the confusion clear on my face and mirrored back at me on Han’s.

“Training?”

Apparently, training was defense practice with a laser sword. Luke stood at the center of the main hold holding a blue laser sword as a little droid zipped around the air, shooting occasional little bolts at Luke who would then attempt to block them. Han has made himself comfortable at the little work station in the corner of the room, his feet kicked up on the table as he reclines back in the chair, watching with mild interest when Obi-wan stumbles suddenly, falling heavily into a nearby chair.

“Are you alright?” Luke asks, rushing to his side as he sheaths the blue blade. The old man looks winded, as he meets Luke inquisitive gaze.

“I felt a great disturbance in the Force,” I raise an eyebrow at his words. Something about the way he said _Force_ makes me think of it with a capital F. “As if millions of voices cried out in terror and then were silenced.” There is such gravity to his words that it doesn’t matter that what he’s saying doesn’t make sense. Han and I share a look. “I fear something terrible has happened.”

“Force…?” I ask hesitantly. Han is waving off my questioning look before either Luke or Obi-wan have a chance to answer.

“Religious nonsense from a dead era,” Han dismisses. Luke shoots him a challenging stare.

“You don’t believe in the Force, do you?” Han casts him a smug grin.

“Kid, I’ve flown from one end if the galaxy to the other and I’ve seen a lot of strange stuff but I’ve never seen anything that would make me believe that there is one all powerful Force controlling everything. There’s no mystical energy controlling my destiny.” Han says cockily. He points to the hilt of the laser sword in Luke’s hand. “And hokey religions and ancient weapons of not match for a good blaster at your side.”

“I don’t know, Han,” I say, finally joining the conversation with a nonchalant shrug. “Seems legit.”

“JD!” Han says, betrayed.

“Han, you of all people should believe in a higher power, I mean, _hello!_ I fell out of the sky and was directly told by an inanimate object to seek you out. On countless occasions my omnipotent iPhone has given us directions that have saved our lives.” I wave my arms around, motioning to everything around us, “like, _seriously_ Han.”

“Wait—what do you mean you fell out of the sky?” Asks Luke, even more intrigued now. I purse my lips, realizing all too late that I’ve said too much. There’s a glint in Obi-wan’s eye as though he’s just been given a very potent hint to a puzzle he’s been stuck on for a while.

“Uhhh, I dunno,” I say lamely. Luke shoots me an incredulous look.

“What do you mean you dunno?” I shrug, which only seems to antagonize the farm boy even more. I glowers at me to which I respond with a face that says: _‘I don’t know what you want from me’_. But Obi-wan has quickly captured everyone’s attention again when he speaks.

“This little device you speak of, it wouldn’t happen to be the one in your pocket, would it?” I still, how did he know that?

“How do you know that?” I ask. Obi-wan fixes me with a critical gaze and I suddenly feel very exposed.

“The Force surrounds every living thing in the galaxy. It resides within everything that is, and is not. Those strong in the Force, Jedi, are able to see the Force at work, like beacons of light that shine in all things in the Galaxy. You, however, do not.” I can feel a knot of unease begin to form in my stomach as I straighten up. I don’t want him to continue, I don’t want to know what he means.

“What do you mean?” Asks Luke, his eyes shining with curiosity as he looks back and forth between me and Obi-wan. I feel myself bristle and I resist the urge to curl in on myself. I want him to stop talking, I want to drop the conversation and move on but Ob-wan’s gaze never wavers from me as he continues, I can see in his eyes his own confusion as he though he is trying to figure out an incredibly difficult riddle.

“You are just… dark. But, no, less than darkness because even Darkness can be strong in the Force—you are nothing. A void. A black hole in a sea of light—you’re impossible.” I cringe, even though there is no animosity to his words, in fact he sounds more astonished than anything else. Suddenly, I remember the odd looks that he had been giving me back in the cantina and it all makes sense. “Everything in existence is interwoven with the Force. Your very existence contradicts thousands of years of belief--.”

“Alright, alright, we get it,” Han interjects, glaring at the old man. “She’s a freak. Now would you lay off?” I can feel Luke’s eye’s burning holes into me but I’m too busy staring at the floor of the _Falcon_ , hoping that maybe the steel floor would kindly open up and swallow me whole.

“You sure know how to make a girl feel special,” I quip, but I can’t put my usual bite into it as my voice cracks as I speak.

“Okay then,” Han says steadily, casting me a concerning glance which I shrug off, “how’d you know where her phone is?”

“I feel and incredibly strong Force signature coming from there.” Obi-wan points to my back pocket where my iPhone currently is. I frown in puzzlement, silently thanking Han for redirecting the conversation away from me. I pull my phone out of my pocket, its rose gold case shining dully under the fluorescent lights of the _Falcon_.

“This?” I ask incredulously, “you mean to tell me Siri is strong in the Force?”

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” says Siri. I scowl down at the obnoxious AI.

“Oh, shut up,” I snap, “nobody was talking to you.”  And I quickly shove my phone back in my pocket before turning back to face Obi-wan. Luke looks ready to ask another question but I cut him off before he has the chance.

“So, what does this all mean?” The old man sighed, placing his hands on his knees and reclining in the chair.

“I haven’t the faintest idea.” There’s a long pause as everyone takes time to digest this anomaly. It is Obi-wan who finally breaks the silence, clapping one hand on his leg, he reaches behind him and pulls a helmet from the wall. “Well, we best continue on. Luke, here, put this on. I want you to rely on your instincts instead.”

He plops the helmet on Luke’s head.

“But with the blast shield down, I can’t see! How am I supposed to fight?”

“Your eyes can deceive you, don’t trust them.” Obi-wan instructed. Han and I catch each other’s eye and I know we’re thinking the same thing. I cock one eyebrow and turn back to watch Luke, curious to see what will happen next.

For a moment, Luke stands there, unmoving. Then, the little droid hit him in the leg with a bolt and he yelps, hissing in pain. I purse my lips.

“Stretch out with your feelings,” Obi-wan orders. I can’t help but smirk, yes Luke, fight the droid with the _power_ of _feelings_.

One! Two! Three!

I feel the smirk slide off my face as Luke successfully blocks three laser bolts. I catch Han’s gaze but he refuses to be impressed.

“You see?” Obi-wan says, proudly, “you can do it.”

“I call it luck,” Han scoffs. I frown, wanting to agree with Han but unable to dismiss what Luke just did. One hit? Sure, you can dismiss it as luck. But three in a row? That’s a statistical impossibility.

“In my experience, there’s no such thing as luck.” Chides Obi-wan, a distinct glint in his eye as he looks back over to Han.

“Listen, good against a remote is one thing. Good against the living? That’s something else.” Han says defiantly, refusing to back down.

“Now Han, play nice,” I say coolly, echoing his own words from earlier. This earns me a scowl from the smuggler but I just return it with my own charming grin. The control panel behind Han starts beeping.

“Looks like we’re coming up on Alderaan,” he says, quickly exiting the main hold. I stick my tongue out at him as he leaves to which he is quick to respond to in kind.

Luke pulls off the helmet, a look of wonderment on his face. There’s a light sheen of sweat on his forehead from the training, mussing up his blond hair. I can see the face-splitting grin tugging at his lips, begging to break free as he tucks the helmet underneath his arm.

“You know, I could almost see the remote,” he says to me, leaning in conspiratorially. I raise my eyebrows, equally intrigued and not ashamed of it.

“It was like magic,” I say, “how did you do it?” Luke shakes his head, shrugging.

“Jedi are able to tap into the Force and become connected with everything around them. They do not need their eyes to see for they can sense everything around them.” Obi-wan explains, his eyes shining, “this has been your first step into a larger world.” Luke and I wear similar expressions of amazement as we let that sink in.

“So, you’re like—magical space ninjas,” I say, trying to wrap my head around this rather mind-boggling. “All about being one with the universe but also doing, like, dope backflips with your laser sword.”

“Lightsaber,” Luke corrected.

“Listen, you can give it a fancy space name, but I’m going to call it like I see it.” I point to the sheathed saber in his hand. “Laser sword,” I point to Chewie, “Bigfoot,” I point to Obi-wan, “space ninja,” I point to Luke, “ninja apprentice.”

But then the Falcon began to shake violently and for the second time that day I was knocked off my feet and sent stumbling like a drunk toddler into Luke. His arm wraps securely around my waist and I brace my hands against his chest to steady myself. We look at each other, both a little startled. It feels like ants are crawling all over my skin and I shiver, resisting the urge to jerk away and shake it off.

“We’ve really gotta stop this before it becomes a habit,” I joke, trying to lighten up the awkward air that suddenly hangs around us. His eyes are such a pure sky blue.

 He forces out a laugh but it sounds more like a wheeze. “Heh, yeah,” he says, unsteadily, his eyes trained unwaveringly on my face.

I finally move away, giving an involuntary shake as my hands quickly ghost over my arms and waist to try and rid myself of the ants. I think Luke catches this because I see a flash of some emotion go across his face, but it’s too quick for me to tell what it is. From the cockpit, I hear Chewie roar.

“We should go find out what’s going on,” I say.

“Yeah.” Luke finally turns away from me and it’s as if I’ve shed ten pounds. I let out a quiet sigh of relief as I follow him out of the main hold and down the corridor toward the cockpit. I almost miss the knowing smirk on Obi-wan’s face and I have to resist the urge to say something snotty as we stumble out way towards where Han and Chewie are located.

“What is going on?” I ask as we duck inside the cramped cockpit.

“Agh! We’ve come out of hyperspace in the meteor shower; some kind of asteroid belt not on any of the charts.” Han says swiftly, his hands flying across the _Falcon’s_ controls as he tries to steady the ship. “Our position is correct but… no Alderaan.” He says slowly, confusion lacing through his voice.

“But how’s that possible?” I say, “you can’t just— _misplace_ a planet.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” Han mumbles, his brow furrowing as more symbols flash across the navi-computer’s screen. “It’s like it’s been entirely blown away.”

“What?” Luke exclaims, “ _how?_ ”

“Destroyed,” explains Obi-wan gravely, “by the Empire.” Suddenly it feels as though a heavy stone has been dropped into the pit of my stomach as one of the few details that I knew about the Star Wars universe came back to me.

“An entire star fleet couldn’t destroy a whole planet, it would take a thousand ships with more fire power than I’ve ever—” Han is suddenly cut off by a loud frantic beeping sound coming from the dashboard. “There’s another ship coming in.”

“Maybe they know what happened,” Luke suggests, leaning forward to get a better look out the viewscreen.

“Guys, I have a bad feeling about this,” I saw warily, my eyes trained on the dark expanse of space in front of us. I can feel something crawling up my skin, something primal telling me to haul ass out of there as fast as humanly possible. As though to confirm my fears, an imperial ship darts into view of the Falcon.

“It followed us,” Luke starts. I’m shaking my head but nobody seems to be paying attention to me.

“Guys, let’s turn around.”

“No, it’s a short-range ship, there must be a base nearby.” Says Obi-wan. Why is nobody listening to me? Is this a gender thing? Are they being sexist right now?

“It sure is leaving in a big hurry, if they identify us we’ll be in big trouble,” Luke says quickly, taking a seat in one of the com-chairs.

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” I can see the look of determination on Han’s face and I suddenly feel nauseous with the amount of anxiety building within me. 

“Han,” I say, near frantic, “Han, leave it. Turn around now.” My tone catches him of guard and Han whips around to look at me, his dark eyes scanning my face.

“Look! He’s heading for that small moon,” Luke says, pointing to something small and white in the distance but quickly growing in size.

“That’s no moon.” Ob-wan and I share a look. As the small moon came closer, the Death Star became clear to everyone in the cabin.

“Chewie, let’s get out of here. Lock in the auxiliary power.” Han orders, his hands have returned to flying across the control panel but it’s too late. I dig my nails into Han’s shoulder as we edge closer to the Death Star, stuck in its tractor beam.

“Why are we still moving towards it?” Luke asks, his voice cracking. I grimace as the Millennium Falcon careen towards the Death Star and think, because here’s catastrophe number three.

“We’re caught in the tractor beam, it’s pulling us in.” Han’s face mirrors mine as everyone in the cockpit realizes the humongous shit we’ve just stepped in.

“We’re _so_ boned,” I mutter.

“There must be something you can do!” Luke says, and I’m not sure whether I should marvel at his faith in Han or his sheer stupidity at not seeing how screwed we are.

“We’re locked in at full power but don’t worry, they’re not going to take me without a fight.” Han says through gritted teeth. Obi-wan leans forward as the Death Star looms before us and clasps a hand on Han’s shoulder.

“You cannot win, but there are alternatives to fighting.”

* * *

 

            And that is how I found myself crammed into one of the smallest smuggling compartments with Luke as Han dismissed any outcries with “You’re small and springy, your joints will bounce back.” Before cramming the floor tile back in place and plunging us in a cramped and uncomfortable darkness. Luke’s breath was hot on my skin and it was almost like he was _trying_ to breath down my neck as my back was pressed against his chest, his shaggy hair ticking my cheek.

            I am going to skin Han alive when I get out of here, I vow, if I don’t die of a heart attack first. I grimace to myself in the darkness and try to ignore the chill settling in over my body, or the sensation that ants were now crawling all over my skin.

            “You’re so cold,” Luke whispers, shock lacing through his voice. “Are you okay?”

            “Just dandy,” I snap back and then shush him as I hear the ship land in the port.

A few heart-pounding moments pass as we listen to the troopers above to a primary sweep of the ship. Outside the ship’s hanger I can hear muffled voices discussing what’s next and I’m praying that they don’t decide to scrap the supposedly abandoned ship or something equally unfortunate.

When it seems that the coast is finally clear, I lift the false floor tile and peek out from our hiding spot. The corridor is empty, the only noise how is the occasional groan of the pipes settling and I can hear no more approaching footsteps outside the ship—for the time being.

Leaning over, I knock surreptitiously on the false floor paneling. _‘Shave and a haircut.’_

 _‘Two bits.’_ Han and Chewie’s heads pop out of the compartment next to the one I’m in with Luke. I am quick to scramble out, eager to be rid of the small coffin-like space, and begin helping the others out. I’ve never considered myself claustrophobic, but the little hold brought back far too many childhood memories I’d rather leave buried.

 “Boy, it sure is lucky that you had these hidden compartments,” Luke says, his innocence shining through once again. It’s almost endearing.

“We use them for smuggling,” Han explains, taking my hand as I help the two out of the hatch. “Though I must say I never thought I would be smuggling myself,” he frowns, “this is ridiculous. Even if I could find a way to fly us out of here, there’s no way we’d make it past the tractor beam.”

“Leave that to me,” Obi-wan says as I help hoist him out of the compartment. I feel my eyebrows shoot up into my hairline. I mean, I know the old guy can take care of himself but sneaking around the Death Star? Han and I are wearing similar expressions of incredulity as we look to each other and then back to the old man.

“Listen,” I start, “I know you’re a space ninja and all, but are you sure you don’t want me to go instead? I’m smaller and springier and have like—fifty less years on me.”

“Yeah,” Han pipes up, jerking a thumb in my direction, “this is kinda her thing.” Obi-wan scowls at us and straightens his robes.

“Do not be so quick to write me off based on how I look, I am quite capable of taking care of myself.” He says, a little irritably. 

* * *

 

Of the things Storm Trooper K-2734 and K-2612 were expecting to find on the abandoned freighter ship were: rebels, droids, possible useful paraphernalia.

            Things they were not expecting: music?

            There reinforced steel boots clattered rhythmically against the floor as they did a primary sweep of the ship. Deeming the area clear, they sent up the two officers carrying the scanner when—.

            _“Ohh, baby I love your way! Every day.”_

The Stormtroopers whirled around at once and two blasters were immediately trained on the little pink device sitting on the floor of an otherwise empty corridor. 

            “What—?” One started to say but was then suddenly cut off with an _‘ugh!’_. His companion whirled around just in time to see a large metal rod connect with his helmet. The little corridor was suddenly filled with a cacophony of noises as a brief, yet heated, struggle ensued. Neither Stormtrooper had time to even reach and com-link for assistance as an onslaught of red hair and well-aimed hits at tender places quickly incapacitated the two.

_“Want to be with you night and day oh yeah—.”_

Crouching down, I hit the pause button on my Spotify, stopping Big Mountain’s serenade and from around the corner, Han comes into view.

“You know I could have just blasted them and have been done with it.”

“Yeah, and alert the entire base to our existence while you’re at it,” I deadpan while pocketing my iPhone once again.

 

 

Luke’s blue eyes shift up to me as I offer him a hand. “Are you okay, Nancy?” And I’m torn between being touched by the sentiment and saying something mean.

“Fine,” I say, purposefully cutting myself off before I can put my own foot in my mouth.

 I mean, if you were really concerned you could have helped, you’re both strapping young men but no send the little girl to do your dirty work. But then again, I guess that would be asking too much. Can’t expect more from well-wisher than just that, can you?

See? There it is. Foot, meet mouth.


	6. Mariah Carry to the Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'll try to make this quick since I know nobody wants to hear from the author, but I wanted to say a quick apology for missing the last few wednesdays. I've been traveling a lot lately ( California, Hawaii, Canada( I know, my life is so hard)) and then I got really sick. So to make up for it, I'm going to try to update more this week and then I'll go back to my ususal posting schedule.

       “TK-421, why are you not at your post?”

       A pause.

       “TK-421, do you copy?”

       When still no reply came from the Stormtrooper, the Officer went over to look out the control room window. Why couldn’t those idiotic troopers just follow the simplest of directions?

       From the mouth of the commandeered freighter, TK-421 appear and wraps sharply against the side of their helmet. He signed in annoyance before turning to the fellow controls officer.

       “Take over, we’ve got a bad transmitter. I’m going to go see what I can do.” He presses his key card to the door which then opens to reveal a young woman leaning casually against the wall. He only barely has time to notice her bright red hair before a large furry paw proceeds to smack him across the face and knock him out. The other controls officer barely has time to register all that is going on about him before he feels a sharp pressure on his neck rendering him unconscious.

       “There now,” I say as I lower the officer to the floor. “Wasn’t my way better?”

       Han storms into the controls room, throwing himself dramatically into the recently vacated chair with an eyeroll. Obi-wan, 3P0 and R2 quickly file in behind. Obi-wan makes a beeline for the controls, no doubt trying to locate tractor beam’s power source.

       “My way would have worked just as well, JD.”

       “ _Your way_ would have alerted half the galaxy to our whereabouts, Han.” Chides Luke as he rushes into the room, quickly closing the door behind him. “Also, just pointing and shooting hardly counts as a plan.”

       “Says who?” Asks Han defensively, “I prefer a straight fight anyways, compared to all this sneaking around.”

       “We’ve found the computer outlet, sir,” announces C-3P0 to Obi-wan.

       “Perfect, plug in R2, he should be able to interpret the entire imperial network.”  I glance over at the droids at this new discovery, quickly being reminded that we are in the middle of something as Han and Luke continue to bicker. The two hot-heads seem to be constantly fighting that it’s a wonder they become such good friends in the future.

       At Obi-wan’s directions, R2 proceeds to connect to a computer that takes up seventy percent of the room. Screens flicker and lights flash as R2 beeps and whirs in response as the little astromech droid works its technological magic.

       “He says he’s found the main controls to the power beam controlling the ship,” says C-3P0, translating for R2 in a cool mechanical voice. “He’ll try to make the exact location appear on the monitor.” The room is silent except for the muted bleeps coming from the computer, “it appears the tractor beam is coupled to the main reactor in seven locations. A power loss at one of the terminals will allow the ship to leave.”

       I step forward at this, moving to Obi-wan’s side.

       “Hey, are you sure you don’t want me to go instead?” The old man casts me an unintelligible look.

       “Do you know how to work tractor beam?”

       “No, but I’m sure I can figure out how to make it _not_ work.” I say confidently. This makes Obi-wan chuckle and shake his head.

       “If it is all the same to you, I would rather you stay here to watch over the others. I am leaving Luke in your capable hands, Jade.” There is such a gentle finality to his words that whatever I was going to say in rebuttal dies on my lips. I look to Obi-wan and then back over to Dumb and Dumber standing there in their Stormtrooper outfits.

       “Yeah, alright,” I sigh, “that’s fair.”

       “ _Whatever,_ ” Han shrugs, “JD if he doesn’t want our help, that’s fine. I’d say we’ve done more than enough already.”

       “Ben, I don’t need a babysitter, I wanna go with _you_.” Luke protests, taking a step towards the old man.

       “Be patient, Luke.” He turns back to address the room, “watch the droids.”

       “But--!” Luke began to protest.

       “—Or other star systems will suffer the same fate as Alderaan.” Obi-wan say, cutting off Luke. In a last act of fatherly wisdom, he places a hand on Luke’s shoulder, “your destiny lies along a different path from mine. The force will be with you, always.”

       And with that Obi-wan walked out of the room, and our lives.

       In the wake of Obi-wan’s departure, Chewie roars out something indignant and places his fists on his hips in a sassy manner.

       “Boy, you said it Chewie,” Han says, agreeing with whatever the Bigfoot said. “Where did you dig up that old fossil?”

       “Ben is a great man.” Luke bit back defensively.

       “Yeah, great at getting us into _trouble_.”

       “Han, stop gaslighting Luke." I say, forcing myself between the two.

       “Well I didn’t hear you give any idea—”

       “No, Luke, shut up.” I snap.

       “Anything is better than just sitting here—” Unfortunately, both Han and Luke are cut short as two hands shoot out to smack their skulls together.

       “Really Han? Like what? You gonna—you gonna go _fight_ Vader? _Is that what you’re gonna do?_ Let me refer you back to your previous statement _‘great at getting us into trouble’_. And you,” I whirl on Luke, “just how old are you?”

       “Uhm, nineteen…”

       “Ninteen. _Not_ nine. Start acting your flippin age or I _will_ put you in timeout.” Han snorts at this but all this does is turn the wrath back on him. “Hey, you’re older. It’s worse for you, you’re supposed to have more maturity than him.” I scold. “It has been _nothing_ but constant arguing from you two since we entered this room can we just have _thirty seconds_ of quiet?”

       At this, R2 starts emitting a series of excited bleeps.

       “Oh my god, what is it _now_?” I whine.

       “I’m afraid I’m not quite sure, ma’am,” answers 3P0 cordially. “He says ‘I found her’, and keeps repeating ‘she’s here’.”

       “Well, who? Who has he found?” Luke asks, wandering over towards to two droids. I fight the urge to claw my eyes out and settle for burying my face in my hands.

       “Why, Princess Leia,” 3P0 informs.

       “The princess? She’s here?” Luke asks incredulously. “Where?”

       “Wait, princess? What princess?” Han asks, twitching in irritation as his questions go unanswered. “What’s going on? JD did they ever say anything to you about a princess?”

       “ _Who cares?_ Honestly…” I groan, shoving my fists into my pockets.

       “She’s in Level 5, Detention Block AA-23.” More bleeps come from R2. “I’m afraid she’s scheduled to be terminated.” Lukes eyes are blown wide at the news, his face shining with genuine concern for the princess’s wellbeing.

       “Oh no, we’ve got to do something!” Luke says earnestly, turning to the three of us. Han is already shaking his head, his brow furrowed in agravation.

       “What are you talking about?”

       “The droids belong to her,” Luke explains. “She’s the one in the message—we gotta help her!” Suddenly, he whirls to face me, “right, Jade?” I raise my eyebrows at him, keeping a cool expression as I pick at an acne scab on my cheek, still more than a little peeved at how blatantly everyone seems to have blown off my scolding.

_“Excuse me?”_

       Han interjects, “now don’t get any funny ideas, the old man wants us to stay here.”

       “But he didn’t know she was here,” Luke counters. Turning back to the droids, he orders them to find us a way into the detention block. Han, in turn, plops down in one of the computer chairs with a defiant “I’m not going _anywhere_.”

       “That’s fine,” I say crisply, “you’d probably just get in the way.” This gets both Han and Luke’s attention. “If anyone is saving a princess, it’s going to be me. Seeing as I’m the only one here who knows how to act their age, and be just generally _reasonable_.”

       The room breaks out into another uproar.

       “But _Jade_ —” Luke whines.

       “Oh, get off your high horse, JD!”

       “ _ROAAAAAR_ ”

       “Okay, _okay!”_ I throw my hands up to get everyone to shut up. “ _First_ , Chewie, you’re right, you’ve also been reasonable—you can rescue the princess too. Second, Han, _shut up!_ I’ve never known you to shy away from a challenge but I guess this rescue mission is just,” I sigh for dramatic effect, “too challenging from you. But, _nobody_ is rescuing _anybody_ if I can’t see that you two can’t last _at least_ thirty seconds without bickering or complaining.” I shoot Luke a meaningful look to which he looks appropriately bashful.

       The following thirty seconds pass in complete silence.

       “Alright,” I say, “let’s go save us a princess.”

       We’re walking down the sleek imperial halls two by two. Chewie and I make up the front of this little bandwagon in our matching handcuffs while Han and Luke follow behind in their Stormtrooper disguises. At the other end of the hall, what I can only assume is the Star Wars version of a Roomba scooters towards us.

       That is, until Chewie finds it necessary to roar loudly at the thing, scaring it off back down the hall.

       “Chewie!” I hiss, “stop! I just vouched for you back there for being reasonable, what’re you doing?” Chewie roars back in apology.

       “Keep in character guys,” Luke says, coming up from behind me. His voice is all distorted from the helmet and he wraps an armored hand around my bicep. “We’re about to hit heavier foot traffic.”

       “Feel like that’s more pertinent to you two, we don’t have to be stormtroopers.” I murmur to him as we round the corner. Suddenly we are surrounded by Imperial officials, all dressed in sleek grey uniforms conversing over what look like dated iPad and other Stormtroopers.

       My eyes drop to the floor as we continue to walk, hoping nobody stops us to asks what we’re doing. I’m not too confident in our Imperial bullshitting abilities, to be quite honest, and this whole charade would easily come falling down on us if someone were to simply ask us for, like, a clearance code, or whatever.

       I feel Luke’s hand give a comforting squeeze, but it’s to anyone’s guess to whom is was for. I wish I could see his face so we could exchange equally worried looks, but instead I settle for a deep breath. Followed by another. And another. Until we finally entered the elevator at the end of the hall.

       “I can’t see a _thing_ in this helmet,” Luke gripes and I purse my lips to keep back a laugh. Of all the things to complain about…

       “This is not going to work…” Han says, ever the pessimist, as he watches Luke struggle with Chewie’s binders.

       “Why didn’t you say so _before?_ ” Luke asks, exasperatedly.

       “I _did_ say so before.”

 _“Shhh!”_ I hiss, “it’s too late for regrets and nay-saying now. We’re already in this—so let’s _make_ it work or else we’re all dead— Luke, undo my cuffs, please.” My words are followed by a begrudging silence as Luke proceeds to fumble with my cuffs.

       “Everyone clear on what’s happening next?” I ask.

       “About as clear as mud,” grumbles Han, “but let’s do this thing.” And with that, the elevator doors opened.

       All the walls are black. All the men are dressed in intimidating black uniforms and stupid little turtle-shaped helmets. Red and green lights flash from various consoles around the room.

       Everything is quiet.

       At the center stands one man, as if he were waiting for us.

       “And where are you taking these two?” He asks in a sneer. Luke is quick to answer.

       “Prisoner transfer from cellblock 1138 and 1139.” The man cocks his head slightly, seeming unconvinced.

       “I wasn’t notified, I’ll have to clear it.” He gestures to the turtle headed guards to come forward, both drawing their guns, and I feel my heart leap into my throat.

       In the next moment, chaos breaks out in the little control room.

       Chewie lets out a roar, knocking one of the guards to the side as I dive for the gun that was just dropped, my loose cuffs clattering to the ground.

       Han shouts, “look out! He’s loose!” Well-aimed, sporadic blaster fire takes out the cameras in the corners.

       “He’ll tear us all apart!” Luke adds dramatically. I shoot at the other guard. One blasts clips his shoulder and he falls down. The other guard struggles to his feet, but before he can move anymore I smack him over the head with the butt of his own gun.

       Han darts forward, circling around the console to press a series of buttons.

       “Now, we gotta find out which cell this princess of yours is in—here: 2187. Go and get her. I’ll handle them.” And handle he did, floundering spectacularly until giving up and shooting the commlink.

       “Luke! JD! We’re gonna have company!”

       Luke and I take off down the cellblock corridor and my limbs are still shaking with adrenaline from the fight when I slam my fist down on the open button for the door to cellblock 2187.

       The scene inside is almost serene. A petite girl, no older than maybe late teens lay on a large slab of cement dressed in all white. At the sound of her door opening, she jolted upright and once again I was struck with the same sense of unfamiliar familiarity. She had dark blonde hair tied back into two buns and large brown eyes and looked the least like her theatrical counterpart and yet still very similar. I could see a bruise shadowing one eyes and there was no light makeup on her face like there was on Carrie Fisher’s in the movies. Her face and clothes were singed in places and smudged with soot and other stains.  It looked like she had been in those same clothes for at least a week or so.

       She looked authentic.

       “Somebody order a rescue party with extra cheese?” I quip, my jitty legs send me bounding down the stairs; Luke hot on my heels.

       “Wh—what?” Luke, temporarily star struck, is for once in his shot life quiet.

       “We came here with Obi-wan Kenobi, we’ve got your droids, princess,” I explain. At Obi-wan’s name, Leia jumps to her feet, licking her lips in anticipation.

       “Obi-wan Kenobi? Really?” She pauses, cocking her head and raising one eyebrow at Luke. “And who’s the Stormtrooper?” I turn to Luke whose still busy ogling and smack him upside the head.

       “What--? Oh!” He says, snapping out of it. Yanking off the helmet, he introduces himself. “I’m Luke Skywalker, I’m here to rescue you— _ow_!” Luke lets out a yelp as I smack him again.

       “Flamboyant introductions aside, princess, we’ve really got to go.” As if on cue, I hear the blaster fire pick back up again at the end of the corridor followed by loud swearing.

       The three of us exit the cell only to find Han dashing down the corridor towards us.

       “Can’t get out that way,” he says breathlessly, diving for cover.

       “Looks like you’ve managed to cut off our only escape route,” Leia snips.

       Han shoots back, “well, maybe you’d like it back in your _cell_ , Your Highness.”

       “Oh!” I exclaim tossing my hands up in the air, “I don’t have time for this, Luke! Hand me that walkie you have to talk to C-3P0.” Luke tosses the little communication device to me as we dive for cover, blaster fire sending bits of metal and shrapnel cascading around us.

       “What’re you doing?” Asked someone.

       “I left my phone behind—I can’t play music!”

       “WHAT?” Han shouted.

       “3P0! 3P0! Do you see my phone in the computer? It’s the pink rectangle!” I shout into the receiver, ignoring my companions.

       “Yes, ma’am. I’ve located it.”

       “Good. Hook it up to the computer and I want R2 to blast Old Time Rock and Roll by Bob Seger through the Death Star’s PA system!”

       “I fail to see how this’ll help us!” Leia shouts over the blaster, throwing herself to the side at the last minute to avoid getting shot in the face.

       “Jade, I hope you know what you’re doing!” Han says, swearing as he tries to shoot at the Stormtroopers at the other end of the hall.

       “Don’t I always?”

       “No!”

       Okay well, that’s fair.

       From over the PA system there is a slight crackle, quickly grabbing everyone’s attention as the opening line of Mariah Carry’s All I Want for Christmas (Is You) fills the Death Star.

_“I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need.”_

       “Okay, not Bob Seger, but this’ll work too.” I mutter, checking the batteries on my gun and the one I stole from the turtle-headed guard. “Han, Chewie, you got my six?” I glance up to see three equally bewildered expressions.

       Han let out a dry chuckle, “yeah.” He scoffs, “I got your six.”

       “Cool. Cool, cool, cool.”

       I whirl around the corner as the beat hit and immediately start firing. Mariah Carry has taken them off guard and I’m able to take a few out before the rest have caught on to what is happening. Red laser fire shoot out from behind me, telling me that Han and Chewie have followed me into the fray.

       Something black moves to my left and I kick instinctually.

       Fist, feet, knees, teeth, head-banging. From behind me, arms wrap around me, picking me up off my feet and I thrash madly. I throw my head back and hear a crunch as the nose of whoever is holding me break. They drop me and I shove them into three more Stormtroopers and they all go down like bowling pins.

       Han shouts. Chewie roars. I can barely make out Mariah singing the chorus over the din.

_"I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know. Make my wish come true, baby, all I want for Christmas is you!”_

       “JADE! Nine o’clock!” I’m not sure who shouted it but I whirl around, swinging my gun like a bat. It smashes into the face of an Imperial officer and he goes flying back. I spin back around to give a little salute to Luke and Leia who are standing, clinging to each other, at the mouth of the corridor.

       “Thanks,” I say, surveilling the aftermath in the room. Han and I high-five each other, both of us a little more sweaty, and breathless, and singed but otherwise uninjured.

       “Good shootin’, partner.” Han commends, unable to keep the proud smile off his face.

       “You weren’t too bad, yourself.” I chuckle as he wraps an arm around my shoulder.

       “Well that’s all very well and good, but if you haven’t noticed, the elevator is busted and now thanks to your shenanigans, the whole Death Star is now alert to our existence.” Leia said hotly as she marched over to us, her arms crossing in a huff.

       “Not to worry, princess.” I chide. “We do have a way out.”

       “We do?” Ask Han and Luke.

       With a flourish, I yank off the grate to the air duct.

       “After you,” I say, smugly. Leia bites down on her lip and I can tell she still as a few things she wants to say but opts for swallowing them and proceeds to crawl into the vents. Luke is quick to follow, then Chewie (after a lot of persuading from Han). I crawl in last, making sure to secure the grate back in place behind us. “Luke!” I call, I can’t see him but I hear his voice call back to me.

       “Yeah?”

        “Get C-3P0 to direct us back to the _Falcon_.”


	7. T is for Trauma

We crawl in silence for several minutes, only the echoing sound of Mariah Carry’s signing and the occasional narration of C-3P0 to break the silence. The air is hot and tense in the cramped little vents. They are barely tall enough for Chewie to comfortably crawl and I have to spend a considerable amount of focus to not step on his fur.

When we finally reach the end of C-3P0’s directions, Leia kicks open the grate and we tumble out into the cold lighting of an empty corridor.

 _“You are now right outside the holding bay where the Millennium Falcon is, sir_ ,” reports 3P0 from over the walkie-thing.  All I want for Christmas has since ended and now _Jumpin’ Jumpin’_ by Destiny’s Child plays throughout the whole Death Star.

 _“Ladies leave your man at home_  
The club is full of ballers and their pockets full grown   
And all you fellas leave your girl with her friends   
'Cause it's eleven thirty and the club is jumpin', jumpin'”

The Falcon is visible through a swarm of frantic Stormtroopers. It seems the sudden appearance of music has thrown the entire space station into complete pandemonium as Officers tried to figure out where the source of the music was coming from. With everyone so distracted, we were able to sneak closer, hiding ourselves behind some crates.

“C-3P0, where are you?” Luke asks.

“We’re in the main hangar across from the ship, sir.”

Leia looked at the _Falcon_ in disbelief. “You guys came in _that_ thing?”

“ _Ha ha_ ,” Han monotoned, casting her a scathing look before fixing his attention back on the ship. “I just hope the old man got the tractor beam down…”

“How’re we gonna get to the ship if its surrounded by Stormtroopers?” I ask, turning to face Han, “make a fight for it?” He grimaced at the idea.

“I’d rather not.”

Suddenly, all the guards started running. Heading for some commotion outside out line of view.

“Look! They’re leaving!” Luke exclaims.

“Now’s our chance,” hisses Han, “ _go!_ ”

In unison, we all make a mad dash for the _Falcon’s_ boarding ramp. Everyone is holding their breath; muted footsteps on steel flooring peppered with furtive glances around to make sure we haven’t been spotted—

“ _Ben?_ ” It’s Luke’s voice.

I whirl around in time to see Luke start running away from the ship.

“Luke!” I say shrilly, “ _where are you going?_ ” I follow his line of sight see two figures fighting through the blaster doors. Stormtroopers surround them but I can hear the whir and clash of lightsabers, the occasional flash of red and blue and I don’t need to be told who is fighting.

Obi-wan glances our way and I swear he almost smirks. _He knew it was going to go down like this,_ I think. The other figure—Darth Vader—swings his red sword and Obi-wan’s cloak drops to the ground.

“NO!” All eyes turn at Luke’s cry and I curse. I can hear Han and Leia shouting behind me, urging Luke to board the ship so we can get out of here. Blaster fire starts raining down on us and I raise one of my own guns to fight back.

I rush over to Luke who still hasn’t moved, shooting his own blaster at the Stormtroopers. Darth Vader turns in our direction and I feel my heart leap into my throat. His red sword glowing red and illuminating the contours of his mask. I shoot without thinking, taking aim at the control panel to the blaster door and watch it close on the Sith Lord before he can walk through.

“Luke,” I say fervently, “we _have_ to go.” Our eyes meet. “ _Please._ ” I seize his hand and together we race back towards the closing boarding ramp of the _Falcon_. Together we tumble into the bay and I just lay there, breathing hard as the _Falcon_ took off.

I immediately sober at the sight of Luke sitting at the main hold’s table.

Picking up the discarded blanket on the engineer’s bench, I place it gingerly over Luke’s shoulders. He looks up at me, his chin resting on his folded arms and he’s never looked more the part of a kicked puppy.

“Hey,” I say, quietly.

“Hey.”

“How’re you holding up?” He shrugs, which I guess is to be expected. “I’m sorry about Obi-Wan…” I search my brain for what Diane would do in this situation. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

He shakes his head, then opens his mouth but pauses. He frowns. Closes his mouth, then tries to speak again.

“Truth be told, I didn’t actually know him that well,” Luke starts, falling further back into his seat. He stares hard at the table top. I curl up in the seat beside him, watching him.

“Then why are you so affected?” I wince at the bluntness of my own words but Luke doesn’t seem to notice my faux pas.

“I… I dunno, I guess. Old Ben was the last person that cared about me.” Luke pauses, his brow furrowing as he seems to be struggling with something. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out for a few moments longer. “My… my uncle and aunt died—recently…” he trails off again, his face scrunching up as he tucks his knees into his chest. “I can still smell it…—the whole homestead was all charred and ashy. Their bodies laying out in front, as if on display… and I wonder… if—how, when they were killed, if they knew where I was—and they wouldn’t know, because I didn’t tell them, and I left them there, unprotected. And I… let them die.” Misty blue eyes find mine and Luke looks up at me with a pleading look. “They were all the family I had in the universe, Jade. And now Ben’s gone—” he cuts himself off with a harsh sigh, scrubbing hard at his face.

 “Sorry,” he gives a self-deprecating chuckle, “guess I just feel a little alone in the universe, right now.”

I scoot closer, placing one hand on his knee. “I’m sorry, Luke. I had no idea,” I say, feeling a little guilty now that I had kept snipping at him for whining. “I’m sorry that all happened to you. But even if Obi-Wan is dead, he’s not the last person to care about you, and you’re certainly not alone in the universe. I want you to know I’m here for you, and I care about you.”

Luke casts me a watery smile, even though his eyes are dry. “What, as my babysitter?”

I purse my lips and say wryly “As your babysitter, I’ll always be looking after you, won’t I?”

“I suppose,” he chuckles. His blond hair looks almost ashy in the cabin’s fluorescent lighting.

He licks his lips. “Have you ever lost anyone?” I pause, worrying my lip between my teeth momentarily. Do I tell him? Do I trust him? I glance back up at those sad blue eyes and make the snap decision to be honest.

“I have,” I start slowly, “my mother was killed in a home invasion when I was little. I was sleeping upstairs—I don’t really remember it.” Another beat. I swallow. “Then… there was other girl, my friend—though, I guess I didn’t really know her, I only knew her for about two weeks before she died.” It’s quiet in the hold, even the pale lighting seems muted. My fingers reach for the skin of the neck, rubbing it subconsciously. “Her throat. It was cut right in front of me…” I stop myself there, dragging myself back into the _Falcon’s_ cabin before I could go any further into the dark.

“What was her name?” I had almost forgotten that Luke was there.

We stare at each other for a beat. Even in the artificial lighting, his skin seems to glow a warm golden color. I can see light freckles on the bridge of his nose. He has high cheekbones and a perfect cupid’s bow that’s seems to be getting closer…

My eyes widen as I realize Luke is leaning in. I open my mouth to shout at him, to tell him off, but I choke on my heart in the process. I’m paralyzed.

“C’mon guys, we’re not out of this yet.” Han says, appearing suddenly at the door to the main hold. “I’ve got Chewie angling the deflector shied—should hold them off, but not for long. JD, you go charge up the main guns. Things are about the get messy.” And then he disappears, dashing back down the corridor.

“On it!” I shout, a little too quickly. I jump up from my seat just as the Falcon gives a violent lurch and I stumble to the floor.

And then I jump up from my seat just as the Falcon gives a violent lurch and I stumble to the floor…

And then I jump up from my seat just as the Falcon gives a violent lurch and I stumble to the floor…

And then I jump up from my seat, a little too eager to create some distance between me and Luke when the Falcon gives a violent lurch and I stumble to the floor… _What the hell was going on??_

 _“We apologize for the inconvenience,”_ came a cool, mechanical female voice over the _Falcon’s_ com-system. _“The universe will be back up and running as soon as possible.”_

And then I jump up from my seat just as the Falcon gives a violent lurch and as I stumble to the floor. I began to wonder if I had finally gone crazy, is this what it feels like to be stuck in a gif? There was nothing I could do to change anything, nothing I could do to break out of it.

And then I jump up from my seat just as the Falcon gives a violent lurch and I stumble to the floor, my hands jutting out in front of me a split second before I was about to go face first into the grating. I scramble back onto my feet, rushing to the gunner’s chair as I try to ignore the knot in my stomach as I focused on powering-up the lasers. I shake it off like water, telling myself it’s just Luke’s fault for making things weird as I focus on the TIE fighters chasing us.

Okay, what was the power-up sequence again? I frown, looking at the multitude of buttons and flashing lights surrounding me. I hold my breath as I punch a series of buttons.

“JD, you in?” Came Han’s voice over the headset.

“Yup.”

“And you, kid?”

“Ready,” replies Luke.

“Alright, here they come! Buckle up!”

Stars whiz by the glass as we fly, TIE fighters swarming around us like a murder of crows. I let out an endless stream of swear words as I use the little navigational screen to track and aim at the smaller ships buzzing around us.

“Hold still you little,” I swear loudly into the headset and I hear Han chuckle in response.

“They’re coming in too fast!” says Luke.

“Tell me about it!” I say back. The _Falcon_ shudders again as we get hit with more fire. One by one the TIE fighters start to fall away and I hear a cry in celebration as Luke hits the last one.

“I got him!” Luke shouts.

“Great job!” I say.

“Don’t get cocky,” Han laughs.

“That’s it! We did it!” Cheers Leia over the headset. I let out a relieved laugh as I watch the space outside bleed and melt into streams of light as we made the jump to hyperspace.

* * *

 

Leia collapses back into the coordinates seat of the cockpit. She lets out a sigh of relief at their less than seamless escape. The lull was but a reprieve from the fighting, but for the first time in several days the princess felt like she could properly breath.

“Not a bad bit of rescuing, huh?” Han asks. A self-gratifying smirk on his face, he reclines in the pilot’s chair and laces his hands behind his head. “Y’know,” he drawls, “sometimes I amaze even myself.”

“If it wasn’t for your partner, I doubt we would have even of made it out the detention center.” Leia says scathingly. She shoots a glance at the scoundrel when he isn’t looking. His dark hair was slicked back and slightly disheveled from the escape. A scar cut through one of his eyebrows and she could spot a few grey ones peppering his hairline. A sharp jawline was covered in a few days’ worth of stubble. Realizing she was staring, Leia quickly looks away before he could catch her.

“Besides,” she says quickly, “they let us go. It’s the only explanation for the ease of our escape.”

“Easy?” Han jerks forward, “you call that easy?”

“They’re tracking us,” Leia explains, chewing on her thumbnail in worry. “At least the information in R2 is still intact.” She says distractedly.

“What’s he carrying?” Light brown eyes met dark brown as Leia weighed whether to tell him or not.

“The technical readout of that battle station,” she sighs, shaking her head and suddenly wishing by the Force that she didn’t have to be responsible for the fate of the Rebellion right now and could just go back to being the nineteen-year-old princess from Alderaan she had been a week ago. “I only hope that when the data is analyzed a weakness can be found.” She cast a deprived glance to Han, “it’s not over yet.”

“It’s is for me, sister.” Han snaps, jabbing a finger at her. He might as well have slapped her. “I ain’t in this for your revolution, and I’m not in it for you, princess. I expect to be well paid, I’m in it for the money. And once that’s done, JD and I? We’re outta here.” Leia swallows hard and schools her expression.

Despite the circumstances, Han, Luke and JD had been the first few friendly faces she had seen almost a week of captivity. The foolish side of her didn’t want to part with her new comrades so quickly, a part of her wanted to cling to them and use them to anchor her in the chaos that her life had so suddenly become in the wake of her father’s death. The other part of her wanted to make an un-princess-like hand gesture at Han and tell him to not let the blaster doors hit him on his way out.

“You needn’t worry about your reward,” Leia says in an icy tone, “if money is all that you love, then that’s what you’ll receive.” Leia jumps out of her chair and almost immediately runs into Luke. The younger boy looks at her with startled blue eyes but Leia is too heated to notice.

“Your friend is quite the mercenary,” she says sharply. “I wonder if he really cares about anything, or anyone besides _JD_.” She tosses the words scathingly over her shoulder before leaving to find a better spot to worry in.

“ _I_ care,” Luke adds, lamely.

In the wake of the princess’s departure, Luke catches Han’s eye. He has the dark, suspicious eyes of a smuggler that made Luke reluctant to trust the man if it wasn’t for the good company he kept.

“ _So…_ ” Luke starts, settling himself down into the chair Leia had just abandoned. “What do you think of her, Han?”

Han cast the farm boy a sidelong glance as if he had absolutely no interest in partaking in this childish gossip. “I’m tryin’ not to, kid.” He mutters, punching a few buttons on the dash. “What do you think of JD?” He shoots back.

The reaction was instantaneous and immensely gratifying. Han had to bite down hard on his lip to stop himself from laughing as he watched Luke’s face go bright pink.

“What? What are you talking about—I don’t think of her. At all.” Luke says quickly.

“Ah,” Han jams his tongue into his molar, a smirk curling at his lips. “Good.” Luke frowns.

“About Jade…” he pauses, “are y—is she…”

“Now I’m gonna stop you right there,” Han cuts in, jabbing a finger in Luke’s direction. “Don’t embarrass yourself, kid.”

* * *

 

Once safely away from the Death Star, everyone immediately disperses and I let out a huge sigh, deflating in one of the chairs like a balloon. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Leia pace around the edge of the main hold. Her shoulders are hunched with her arms wrapped tightly around herself, one hand rubbing at her lips. Her dirty blonde hair was disheveled, the braids having come undone slightly in all the ruckus.

“Hey,” she doesn’t hear me. “Leia.” Nothing. I chuck my sweatshirt at her and it lands with a flop on her head which startles her. Harsh brown eyes swivel in my direction. Glaring, as she opens her mouth in preparation to scold me.

“Do you want a shower?” This stops her short. She blanches at my sudden offer, not expecting me to offer such a thing.

“Now is hardly the time for freshening up,” she says crisply, lifting her chin as if she found the very idea repugnant. I shrug, not letting her prickly attitude get to me.

“Well, I just figured—it looks like you’ve been in those clothes for a few days, and I know a good shower always makes me feel a little more normal afterwards.” I give a wry smile, “besides, the Empire will still be there to kill after you take a quick dip in the ‘fresher.” Leia purses her lips but I can see her demeanor soften. “I’ve got clothes you can borrow, too.”

I can see her wavering, unsure whether to take my offer or to continue dithering in the corner.

“I suppose… you have a point,” she admits, albeit grudgingly. I lead her to the shitty space shower, lending her my leggings and a blue blouse I had gotten in a casino gift shop in Naboo. “I’ve got some lotion, a little makeup, a brush too… but honestly that really it.” I say, placing my MAC lipstick down beside my jar of lotion and hairbrush.

“Thanks,” she says tightly. I watch her for a moment, standing there in the bathroom clutching my clothes to her chest like they were a lifeline. Petite shoulders are hunched as if to ward off a cold wind. All her muscles are and coiled so tightly as if she was physically trying to hold herself together.

I want to ask if she’s alright. I want to ask her if she wants to talk about it. But I don’t think I know her well enough to ask so instead I say: “hey, Leia?”

Her eyes snap up to me, a cold, flat, brown.

“Holler if you need anything, I’ll be right outside.” I pause, lick my lips, “I’m here for you.” Leia’s eyes grow misty, her lips pursing together to hide their quivering.

She nods. “Thank you…”

“Jade,” I supply, offering my hand. “Jade Duke, at your service.”

She nods, taking my hand graciously. “Leia Organa.”

The bathroom door closes and I walk away, shoving my hands deep into their pockets. I wonder what Diane would have to say if she were here. I reach an absentminded hand down for my phone—wait a minute.

I freeze.

It’s not there. –Where was the last place I saw it? I slap a hand to my forehead. “R2!”

I rush back to the main hold to find both the droids strapped in.

“Hey, R2, C-3P0, do you guys still have my phone?” A pause.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, miss. I believe in all the panic of escaping, we forgot to grab it.”

“WHAT?” I shout. I clap a hand to my forehead as I pace about the hold. “You mean to tell my we’ve left my omnipotent iPhone, strong in the Force, with a fantastic playlist on Spotify, on the Death Star? Basically, in the clutches of Darth Vader?”

“Again, I am terribly sorry, madam.” 3P0 says earnestly. I wave off his words. Best case scenario, it gets crushed underneath the boot of a Stormtrooper, worst case scenario, Darth Vader now has access to those nudie photos I took of myself and then never deleted and also predictive texts.

“Oh, this is bad news bears, for sure.” I mumble, rubbing a hand over my lips in worry.

 


	8. My Favorite Murder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I know it's been a while since I've posted, I've been pretty busy these last two months but I should be getting some down time soon and I'll for sure be uploading again come august. In the interum though, I wrote this little chapter for the Spopera universe. I wanted to play around with different storytelling methods so I wrote this chapter in script form based on the podcast My Favorite Murder. Feel free to tell me if this sucks, you'll have a real chapter soon!

K: "Hi!"

G: "Hi!"

G: "I'm Georgia Hardstark."

K: "And I'm Karen Killgariff."

G: "And this is—"

K: "-My Favorite Murder!"

G: "-the Podcast." *Georgia giggles*

K: "Okay, so, Georgia."

G: "Yes Karin?"

K: "I have  _the_  story this week."

G: "Oh do you?"

K: "Yes because not only is it a murder—but it's also an 'I Survived'." *Georgia gasps* "It also has cannibalism,"

G: *double gasp*

K: "And badass females"

G: *triple gasps*

K: "And a surprise celebrity cameo, I mean what more could you ask for?"

G: "I don't know, and it honestly doesn't really sound familiar either— is it old?"

K: "No, actually, it's only about—actually less than ten years old. Okay, well, here goes. It's set in Seattle, Washington, November 13, 2010. Hana Samano, Amanda Sykes and Nancy Duke are staying late after school at Mercer Middle School—Wait, before I go any further, did you ever watch WrestleMania in the late 80's early 90's?"

G: "I mean, kinda,"

K: "it was usually the only thing on in the dive bars I would get blackout drunk in, so I've seen a fair share. Do you know the Duke of Hazard?"

G: "Yes, I keep track of all cute redheads."

K: "So, Nancy Duke is his kid! Which isn't prevalent to the story, but I thought it was cool."

G: "No way! Shut up."

K: "She was such a cute little kid; natural redhead with these big green eyes. Like, you can look up pictures of all three of them online and they're just like… little girls. They're all like twelve or thirteen and they've got the brightly colored braces and handmade friendship bracelets and razor flip phones. Like there was this one picture of Hana I found that was so nostalgic for me because her wrist is covered in those sillybands and she's flashing the peace sign but on one of her fingers you can clearly see a green line from one of those cheap mood rings that would always dye your skin after wearing it for like five minutes."

G: "Aw!"

K: "Anyways, Hana, Amanda, and Nancy are after school in the seventh-grade geometry room making up a test overseen by their teacher, Edward Fisher. Apparently, all three girls had been absent at some point during the last two weeks and Mr. Fisher had told them that they had missed a small test while they were out and would need to come in after school to make it up."

G: "Uh uh. Nope. I don't trust it. Corroborate with your friends, ask them if there was a test while you were out and if you can see their answers."

K: "Okay but see, here's the rub. It's your math teacher. Like, we inherently trust police officers or doctors or your math teacher that you see every other day for the last two months! Why would you not believe them?"

G: "I know, it just makes me mad. You can't trust anyone, not even the people you're supposed to trust."

K: "Okay, anyways, halfway through the test Fisher gets up, throws something into the trash and leaves the room, locking the door behind him. Within moments, the room is filled with a smoke that renders the girls unconscious."

G: "No!"

K: "When the girls come to, they are chained up in a windowless basement. Amanda and Hana are handcuffed to a furnace while Nancy is zip tied to the bedframe of this old-school wrought-iron bed that was down there with them. In my head I've placed them in, like, the basement from  _Silence of the Lambs_."

G: "Oh, Buffalo Bill's basement?"

K: "Yeah, with all it's creepy accoutrements."

G: "Oh god."

K: "Meanwhile, the girls' parents arrive at the school to pick them up from the test and they're greeted by Fisher."

G: "MMMMmmmm nope what the fuck"

K: "Right? So they're like "what the fuck, where are our children" and he's all "I don't know I've just called school security, I had to step out for a bit and when I came back they were gone _!_ "

G: "And nobody was suspicious of that? Couldn't they check security cameras or something?"

K: "Well here's the thing, the school isn't the most up-to-date so they didn't have security cameras installed in the hallways inside the school just surrounding the outside of the school building, and since it was after school and a Friday, they were down because they were doing some maintenance."

G: "How did they not notice him take them, or—how long was he gone?"

K: "Okay so here's the other thing, the girls were stored in two places during the time of their captivity, when he first abducts them, he keeps them in his home in his basement which is on the other side of the fence of the school grounds."

G: "Ohhhh so he was literally like, keeping them right next door."

K: "Yeah."

G: "That's so fucked up. Imagine being kidnapped to the house next door to where you live or something? Like you know safety is just a few yards away and you're being kept just right outside."

K: "Well he does eventually relocate them to his hunting cabin out in Eastern Washington."

G: "Oh."

K: "He initially has them in his basement, but I agree with you, it's messed up. Anyways—where was I… okay. So, the parents contact the police but the police are reluctant to do anything, saying that they could have just skipped out on their math test and turn up later—y'know, typical kid shit. But Hana Samano's mother, Marisa Samano, is just not having it. Hana comes from a first generation Philipino family, Amanda was hell bent on being the first person in her immediate family to go to college—"

G: "Hell yeah—"

K: "- and her mother is like 'Hana would never ditch school or intentionally miss a math test, this whole thing stinks to high heavens'. And then Jim Duke—"

G: "The Duke of Hazard?"

K: "-yes. He chimes in with the added fact that Nancy never goes anywhere without her cellphone and she always answers it and never goes anywhere without telling him first."

G: "Yeah, well… but that's a lot of faith to put in a pre-teen, Hana's mom had a stronger argument."

K: "Okay yes, but six years prior, Jim's wife and Nancy's mom was killed in a home invasion—"

G: "The Duchess of Hazard?"

K:  _*Karen laughs*_  "The Duchess of Hazard was killed in a robbery while Nancy was asleep upstairs."

G:  _*Georgia gasps*_  "Oh poor baby!"

K: "Thankfully nobody besides the mother was harmed, the robbers didn't even know there was anybody else in the house, I think they though the house was deserted because everyone else besides the mother and daughter were out of the house at the time—that family is like the Weasley's, they've got like six or seven children and is a family of  _all_  redheads."

G: "Really?"

K: "No, I think it's like four kids, and Nancy does have a twin. But anyways, because that robbery killed their mother, all the kids were brought up under pretty close supervision so I believe it when The Duke says his kid never goes anywhere without telling him first."

G: "Yeah, totally."

K: "So, all the parents are basically like, 'this doesn't sound like my kid, they would never do that, blah blah blah' and the police refuse to act which becomes a big deal later. Because by the time they do finally act, Fisher has already moved the girls out to his far more remote cabin in eastern Washington which is apparently just like wilderness and farmland and tiny redneck towns until you hit Spokane."

G: "Okay, so like central California, I got you."

K: "Over the course of seven days, the girls are fed Ipecac to purge their bodies and then fed only saltines and vegetable broth."

G: "Oh no."

K: "Fisher was under the delusion that the three girls were the reincarnation of his wife who had died ten years previously when she had been hit by a drunk driver."

G: "Oh no—does he not know how reincarnation works? Those girls would have been two or three already when his wife died."

K: "Well, he's crazy."

G: "True…— _and was allowed around children!_  How the hell did he get a job at a middle school?!"

K: "Interesting that you should bring that up. It is later brought to light that Fisher was connected to two other unsolved murders in Idaho where some local girls had gone missing only for their bones to show up three months later with—and get this,  _teeth marks_  on the remains."  _*Georgia gasps*_  "However, since Fisher didn't have an arrest record, when they ran the dental work through the system nothing came up and the cases went cold. Those girls were also in junior high and Fisher was found to have worked at both schools as a PE teacher and a Math teacher."

G: "I smell a fetish. Like, cry reincarnated wife all you want but you keep going after twelve-year-old little girls…"

K: "Disgusting. But just wait."

G: "DOES IT GET WORSE?"

K: "Just wait."  _*Georgia makes anxious noises*_  "So after a week of captivity and near starvation, the girls had been held in his ridiculously giant hunting cabin, chained to the bed and Amanda is finally like 'well I've had just about enough of this crap, it's time to devise a way to get out of here' which I think is super badass. Fisher isn't there most of the time because he's still working at the school but he leaves surveillance cameras on them so he can still keep tabs on them while away but it's one of those super shitty ones with grainy footage and no sound so the girls are able to plot."

G: "I love these girls with all my heart already."

K: "So Amanda had noticed that Fisher seemed to give her special attention—brushing her hair more often than the other girls, clipping her toenails, other creepy things, that she devises this plan: when Fisher gets home, Amanda asks him out on a date to the living room being all like 'oh we can watch a movie if you want, have some dinner, blah blah blah' and through the date Amanda is able to get a better layout of this two-story cabin. The room the girls were being kept in had no windows so they couldn't climb out that way, but there were these giant air-vent they could crawl through. So, the plan was for Amanda to get a layout of the place to see of the vent lead out and then they would break out together once they were sure that Fisher was asleep."

G: "Oh, sweet babies. Oh, these little, little girls."

K: "That night, after Fisher has fallen asleep, the girls work together to pry the links in their chains open and remove the air-vent's grating. Amanda crawls in first and the vent emits this huge groan and starts making all this noise. In the  _'I Survived'_  interview Nancy describes the sound the vent made as one of the most heart-stopping moments of her entire life. I almost started crying, see, this is why I don't like _'I Survived'_  because she's, like,  _sixteen_  in the interview. Within moments, Fisher is in the room with a butcher knife."

G: "Oh no."

K: "The girls panic. He stabs Nancy in the stomach and Hana in the abdomen before grabbing Amanda by the hair and slitting her throat. Hana and Nancy try to fight back but he manages to incapacitate them again and zip-ties them together before leaving them and taking Amanda's body. Over the course of the next three days the girls are left with their wounds untreated as Fisher proceeds to meticulously cook pieces of Amanda and eat her, feeding Hana and Nancy unbeknownst to them. After his arrest, Fisher explained that he ate his victims in order to absorb his wife's soul and it only made sense to feed Amanda to the other girls in order to consolidate the three parts of his late wife's soul into one body. He was planning on killing Hana next. She was suffering the most from her stab wound so he was planning on feeding her to Nancy."

"The girls have now been missing for two weeks; a statewide hunt to look for them has begun and police have started to look at Fisher as a person of interest. However, at the rate that the investigation was going, there was no way that the police would find the girls before they had all died. Growing desperate and weaker, Hana and Nancy devised a plan. In the interview, Nancy said that the two had argued for a long time on who should stay behind and who should go get help. Neither wanted to leave the other behind and Hana finally ended the argument saying  _'I'm thirteen, so I'm older. Which means you have to do what I say. I'm going to make sure you get out'_."

G: "Oh god, I'm like, gunna cry over here."

K: "When Fisher got home that day, Hana confided that she knew he was going to kill her next and that she was okay with it and said she just wanted to spend some time with him before he killed her. Fisher and Hana spend the evening watching  _'A Streetcar Named Desire'_  and then—and this is probably my favorite thing—have a dance battle. In the interview, Hana said they danced to I'm So Excited by the Pointer Sisters and All I Want for Christmas by Mariah Carry.

G: *laughs* "Oh my god! Really? A dance off to late 80's and early 90's top hits?"

K: *laughing* "Apparently, yeah."

G: "That's the best thing I've heard all day."

K: "Anyways, meanwhile Hana and Fisher are having their 80's dance battle, Nancy is in the other room using a rusty corner of the bedframe she breaks free of her zip ties and crawls into the air-vent. Now knowing that the vent will be noisy, Hana blasts Mariah Carry to cover the noise of Nancy crawling."

G: "I can't imagine escaping certain death to the tune of All I Want for Christmas Is You."

K: "I can—I would totally escape to The Pointer Sisters.  _'Tonight's the night we're gonna make it happen'_ ,"

G: *laughing* " _'Tonight we're gonna put all other things aside,'_  that would be a great escaping song. I would be crawling away to the beat of the song."

K: "So Nancy, being the smallest of the three girls and under the protection of Mariah Carry, is able to successfully crawl through the vents and sneak out while Hana is busy distracting Fisher. She ends up running five miles barefoot in her underwear. In the interview, Nancy recalls that must have been the most and fastest she had ever run and 'I had no idea I had that kind of endurance—but I guess the adrenaline of survival will do that to you'."

G: "Man, I hope if I'm ever being chased by a serial killer I also suddenly find that kind of energy reserve. But I feel like after one yard I'll K.O."

K: "Literally the only thing that will motivate me to run on the treadmill is being able to run away from a serial killer. Anyways, she finally comes across a convenience store that calls the police for her. There's actually video footage from the convenience store that you can watch online, where you can see Nancy run up."

G: "Oh my god…"

K: Both the girls had lost so much weight in those two weeks, she didn't even look like herself when running up—all skin and bone…"  _*Georgia clears her throat*_  "Anyway, after calling the police, Nancy runs all the way back to the cabin—"

G: "WHAT. WHY."

K: "BECAUSE Hana was still there. In the interview, Nancy says she didn't really know what she was thinking but she knew she just couldn't sit there and wait for the police. She said 'I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I let anything happen to her, I couldn't be the only one to survive this. It didn't feel right to just sit there, I had to make sure that Han' would make it to. We were responsible for each other.'…"

G: "Then what?"

K: "Nancy makes it back to the house, sneaks back through the air-vent, back into the room. And she was talking about how it felt like she was crawling back into her own coffin. In the interview she was gripping at her chest a lot saying how counterintuitive it is, like, her whole body didn't want her to go back into that air-vent, all the air seemed to be sucked out of that house and the closer she got, the harder it became to breath."

"Meanwhile, through all this, Hana has entered like this fugue-state. She recalls the entire night as this, out-of-body experience. Like, she remembers dancing with Fisher and cuddling with him on the couch, but she remembers it all like she was watching it from across the room. Llike watching a very surreal television show of herself and the only time she felt truly panicked was when Hana had to quickly crank the music way up while Nancy was in the vents. While Nancy is getting the police, Hana has somehow convinced Fisher to watch another movie and this time its  _Talladega Nights_. They lay down on the couch and Fisher actually ends up falling asleep. Hana had never been more startled than when he starts snoring and she realizes he's fallen asleep on the couch. Through some, like, fearless, badass woman reserve, Hana gently lifts his arms off her and slips out of the living room at the same time that Nancy is returning. Together, the girls sneak out the back door and Nancy carries Hana back to the convenience store."

G: "These girls fucking owned the shit outta this kidnapping."

K: "They really did. I think a lot of us would like to think we would be this resourceful when put in such a stressful situation, but there is really no telling how you would react. And the added fact that they were so young…"

G: "Yeah these girls don't fuck around."

K: "Unfortunately, no arrest is ever made. The girls make it safely back to the convenience store, but when the police show up at the cabin, Fisher is dead from a gunshot to the head. When he had woken up to find both girls gone and the backdoor wide open, he killed himself—which I think is so selfish."

G: "Yeah! Because he never faced any kind of punishment for his crimes!"

K: "They were, however, able to recover the remains of Amanda's mostly-eaten body and bone fragments that would end up linking him to the other two girls he killed back in Ohio."

G: "Well I guess that's something… God… I can't even imagine the psychological damage it would do to someone to be fed human flesh against their will—and your friend of all people."

K: "Yeah I found this really effed up quote from Nancy on it saying:  _'I don't think I'll ever be able to eat meat again, now that I know just how much people taste like barbeque ribs from Outback Steakhouse'_."

G: "And now I can never eat at Outback Steakhouse again!"

K: "Anyway, that is the case of the murder of Amanda Sykes, and the insane survival story of Nancy Duke and Hana Samano. That's all from us. G'byeeeeeeee!"

G: "Byeeeeeeee!"


End file.
